


Tsurezure Duelists

by Lilyliegh



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Developing Relationship, Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Relationship(s), and based on another series, series of somewhat connected one-shots around vrains relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-08 01:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15232389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilyliegh/pseuds/Lilyliegh
Summary: A story about falling in love, being in love, and the messiness of being in relationship, told through the semi-connected one-shots of various couples.Based on the series Tsurezure Children.Originally written for Vrains Weeks 2018.





	1. Ryouken/Yuusaku I

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! i decided to put all my Vrains Week fics in one story! ergo, please note the pairings in the titles of each chapter. also, while all these one-shots are technically in the same fic, please pretend that they are stand-alone stories and characters that overlap maybe have slightly differently personalities depending on the fic and main relationship. thank you for understanding ^W^
> 
> also for day 01: school and school uniforms. since i did a high school au, this prompt fit perfectly with my idea ^^

_ Why bother being in class?  _ Yuusaku thinks to himself. He muses over it through all of first period, flicking his pencil back and forth in the back of the classroom. He doesn’t really see the purpose of the lesson, or the reason why he can’t just study this from a textbook on his own time. Why does he have to be in class to learn? What is he truly learning from anyone else?

So when first period is over, Yuusaku gathers up his books, shoves them in his backpack, and heads out the door. He hears several chairs swivel to glance and him, and Naoki cries out, “Fujiki, wait! Wait! What about class?”

_ What about class?  _ Yuusaku thinks.  _ Why do I need to be here, with you, with everyone, listening to someone drone on and on about a topic I could learn for myself in a textbook? What benefit is there to sitting with a bunch of students who will only become paper-pushers? There is no reason. I might as well spend my time with Kusanagi where at least I’m doing work, or dueling … _

Yuusaku’s fingers ghost over the duel disk strapped to his arm. There are a handful of duelists at Den City High School, but none of them play professionally or strategically; they're all Charisma Duelists in the game for the social experience. Meanwhile, Yuusaku duels for his life – for his only reason to live. If Yuusaku has any chance of living a meaningful life, it’ll be as an anonymous duelist in Link Vrains.

The hallways are a ghost town, and Yuusaku slips down the staircases and into the lockerbay without seeing a single soul. He puts on his outdoor shoes and tugs out his jacket, and then heads out the front door. Just like inside, there’s not a single person in sight; yet out here, a warm, spring view greets him. Sakura petals rustle in the breeze, and sweep across the concrete path leading from the school out to the main gates. Yuusaku walks with his hands in his pockets and his head down. 

“Hey.”

Yuusaku stiffens but doesn’t stop walking. Maybe another student saw their friend, or someone is in a phone call. Surely no one is talking to him.

“Hey. Hey, Fujiki, right?”

Shit. Yuusaku stops but does not raise his head. There are a number of students who know his name: classmates, teachers, and the like. Yuusaku makes little to no communication with any of them; his closest acquaintance is probably Naoki, and whoever spoke to him had a far deeper, richer voice.

Yuusaku still doesn’t raise his head. Maybe the person will take his behaviour as a cue to be on their merry way. Maybe the person just wanted to say hi and nothing more. But then Yuusaku hears footsteps approaching, and he hears his name once more, and then Yuusaku does have to look up.

It’s … a boy. His age too. Beyond wearing the standard slate-coloured jacket and white undershirt of all students at Den City High School, this boy has white bangs dashed with purplish highlights. He looks to be Yuusaku’s age, maybe older, or maybe just more mature. He frowns, and then smirks, and then frowns again. Yuusaku tries to make sense of it all, but he finds himself frozen in his classmate’s strong gaze.

_ Who are you?  _ Yuusaku wants to ask. And then Yuusaku sees the little pin attached to the other boy’s lapel – Student Council. Yuusaku knows then and there who this is: Kougami Ryouken, Student Council President, leader of the Knights of Hanoi, legendary duelist. It’s enough titles to turn Yuusaku off a bit, but he doesn’t dare open his mouth or retort anything.

“Are you going somewhere, Fujiki?”

Yuusaku shrugs his shoulders. It’s obvious where he’s going, and what he’s doing.

“You’re skipping classes, aren’t you?”

Obviously.

And then a pause, as if Ryouken is contemplating this thought with an all-too-pensive gaze. Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. Is it really so bizarre to be skipping? He’s skipped class at least once a week and never run into anyone else, much less Ryouken. And Yuusaku never sneaks out – he walks right out the front door and down the main pathway. The fact that this is news to the Student Council President should mean there is something more to say about how seriously attendance is taken in classes.

“So?” Yuusaku says after a moment.

This time Ryouken raises an eyebrow. “So?”

Yuusaku takes a step. “I’ll be heading on now …”

“You’re skipping.” Ryouken says it like he’s just realised this detail … again. “Your grades will surely plummet if you miss lessons.”

“I guess,” Yuusaku says, though he truly doubts it. He probably learns more from his own private studying because he doesn’t have to wait for everyone else in the room to figure out the basic problem too. 

But Ryouken doesn’t look like he finds Yuusaku skipping all too funny, or even normal. He crosses his arms over his chest and peers down his long, narrow nose at Yuusaku. “If you’re skipping class, it’ll hurt your grades. As Student Council President, I could write you up and inform the principal. This would seriously affect your academic performance and your chance of receiving scholarships through the school.”

_ Whatever,  _ Yuusaku thinks. He doesn’t plan on moving on to university anyways. 

“This is a serious academic offence,” Ryouken continues, “and I hope you’ll take my words to heart. However …” He clicks his teeth together. “I’ll let you off this time.”

Yuusku tries not to let the surprise show on his face, but he feels his mouth drop open –

“If you do me a favour.”

Yuusaku’s mouth snaps closed and all his defenses go back up. This all seems suspicious now, every single detail of it. What does a favour mean? What is he supposed to do? And Ryouken doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours, dragging the suspense out for all its worth and leaving Yuusaku’s mind spinning.

When Ryouken doesn’t say anything, Yuusaku hikes his backpack strap up on his shoulder and asks, “What’s the favour?”

“Three favours, actually,” Ryouken says, his voice light and airy even with its deep, baritone ring. “One, you’ll go to class more than twice per week; two, you’ll pay attention during lessons and value the social learning experience … and three, you’ll kiss me.”

“Ki –” Yuusaku chokes back the words, his cheeks burning. A kiss? What kind of favour is that, and from Ryouken?

“Those are the three favours.”

Yuusaku doesn’t even know what to say. He stands, hands hanging at his sides, fists balled, and waits for Ryouken to open his damn mouth once more and say something even  _ more  _ ridiculous. Who asks for a kiss? Who asks for that as a favour? And for skipping class? How are those related?

“You think I’m joking?” Ryouken says, cutting through the silence. “I’m very serious here, Fujiki. I care about your schoolwork and your education –”

“What …” Yuusaku swallows hard. “What does that have to do with the third reason though?”

“A kiss?” Ryouken says, and smirks when Yuusaku’s cheeks burn crimson. “I’ve never fallen in love before, believe it or not.”

Yuusaku curls his shoulders. He’s never fallen in love before either. There’s no one in the school who he really cares about, and he’s never given the idea of love much thought anyways. School doesn’t seem like the place where love can truly blossom – true, passionate love, that is. Sure, there are dorky school crushes and short-term romances, but if Yuusaku ever wanted to look for a partner – and he surely doubts it – he knows he wouldn't be looking for them in his classes.

“Maybe you’re just not interested in love –”

“Tested that,” Ryouken interrupts. 

Yuusaku tilts his head to the side. “Tested … what?”

Ryouken doesn’t answer. “I don’t want to just date anyone,” he says.

“So you want to … kiss?” Yuusaku raises an eyebrow, trying to piece together the logic. When Ryouken doesn’t so much as smirk or snort at the question, Yuusaku resigns himself with a sigh. Ryouken is serious about this idea. Yuusaku isn’t persuaded in the slightest, but the longer he stands here, the more he wishes he could be at home on his computer instead of out here with Ryouken. So Yuusaku squares his shoulders and says, “Do you need a lesson on kissing then?”

Ryouken smirks widely. “No need, I already learnt that trick.”

_ How?  _ Yuusaku wants to ask, but this time he just keeps his thoughts to himself. 

Then Ryouken steps forward, just a bit, and Yuusaku stiffens, his shoulders crunching down.

“You agreed to this more readily than I expected,” Ryouken says, and he speaks as if he’s commenting on the weather, one hand tucked under his chin. “I thought you might be a bit more passive, but maybe there’s more to you than meets the eye, Fujiki.”

"Whatever," Yuusaku says, peering at Ryouken through his bangs.

"Would you go all the way?"

Yuusaku tries his hardest not to react, but he sucks in a breath and curls his hands into fists. What – what does that mean? No wait, he knows exactly what that means. The last thing he wants to do is that, but then he also doesn't want to say he's not interested because what if Ryouken says something more.

So again, Yuusaku says, "Whatever."

In a flash, Ryouken hand swings down to his pants. Yuusaku sucks in another breath, thinking Ryouken is going to unzip his pants zipper or something, but instead Ryouken reaches across to his duel disk and flips open the holographic screen. He swipes through several apps, and then opens up one particular app that Yuusaku is also familiar with: Den City Banking. Again, Ryouken taps a few more keys, and then flips his screen so that Yuusaku can see.

"I've got Y100,000 to bust, so if you're offering ..."

The first question Yuusaku wants to ask if who carries that kind of cash on them. What kind of teenager has a hundred grand to bust – on a kiss? Or more? But then another question poisons Yuusaku's mind: the thought of giving in to Ryouken. That's an even worse thought, and Yuusaku's stomach cramps.

"Do you really want the money that badly ...?" Ryouken asks. He sounds sincere too, and while he stands there, legs spread and smirking, he hasn't even moved an inch. But Yuusaku feels like he's cornered with no way out, and if he says "whatever" once more, will Ryouken take that as a yes? Does that sound like a yes?

With a soft sigh, Ryouken shrugs his shoulders. "You're not so tough after all, are you? You're just a bit shady of a character, a little distant and mysterious ... but you're a good person, Yuusaku."

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow.  _ What? _

Ryouken continues: "If you're going to whore yourself out, you should be asking for more than Y100,000. Even beginners know that much; don't ask me how I know this. So if you're actually all standoffish about that rather than affronted I was going to pay you so cheaply, that tells me you don't know all that much about what you just agreed to ... and that's more worrying that anything else. You're worth much more than that, Yuusaku."

Yuusaku doesn't know whether he should say thanks or not. A part of him wants to turn around and keep walking off the campus and pretend he never had this conversation with Ryouken, but a part of him clings to Ryouken’s words. He was being genuine there, wasn't he? He was never going to go 'all the way' with Yuusaku.

"I still want to kiss you though," Ryouken says, "and you need to give me a yes or a no answer for that question."

Stiffly, Yuusaku nods his head, and then freezes midway. Did he just agree to the kiss? He meant to just agree to make a decision, but Yuusaku's eyes freeze on Ryouken's, and he travels his gaze down to Ryouken's lips. What would it be like to kiss Ryouken? What do his lips feel like? What does he taste like? Yuusaku has never kissed another soul in his life, and while being put on the spot has increased the cramps in his belly, he also wonders just what the sensation of kissing might be like. And ... Ryouken doesn't look like a bad kisser. He said so himself.

"Are you scared?"

Yuusaku wishes he could answer so quickly, but it takes him a moment to compose himself, and when he does say, "No ..." his voice comes out fainter than a butterfly's whisper. "Why should I be?" he adds.

Ryouken has moved closer though, and Yuusaku stiffens a bit as the space between them closes. Yuusaku closes his eyes just so he doesn't have to see it, and traitorously his lips part just a bit.

"Ready?" Ryouken breathes the words against Yuusaku's lips.

Before Yuusaku has a chance to reply, Ryouken's lips touch his. A lot. It's a wholly foreign sensation, being so close to someone. Ryouken's nose brushes against Yuusaku's cheek, and Ryouken's cheek seems to stroke the side of Yuusaku's jaw. One of Ryouken's hands comes up to tug lightly at Yuusaku's jacket, and in response Yuusaku gives a slight gasp, just enough that Ryouken deepens the kiss.

There's no tongue, nothing more than skin-to-skin, but by the time Ryouken breaks away – a whole five seconds that felt more like five millennia – Yuusaku is breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded. He tries to raise his head, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins has his mind so dizzy that Yuusaku wouldn't even be able to register which way is up or down. Across from him, Ryouken looks much more at ease. He's still close, breathing on Yuusaku's cheek, and smiling.

"Good?" Ryouken says, and chuckles when Yuusaku's cheeks darken.

Yuusaku doesn't say anything. His lips feel weird when he sucks on them, as if Ryouken's touch has changed the chemicals in his body.

"You know ..." Ryouken muses, blowing little breaths across Yuusaku's face. "I'll give you three reasons why that kiss was good: one, you didn't hold your breath; two, you didn't try to eat my face or do anything else weird; and three, you just let the kiss happen."

_ That's why the kiss was good?  _ Yuusaku wants to ask, but he can barely hold a conscious thought, his mind still spinning from the kiss.

"That means, Fujiki ... I mean, Yuusaku ..." Ryouken leans closer, brushing his lips against Yuusaku's cheek. "I think I could fall for you. You've broken my curse; you're my special person, I think." A pause; a soft chuckle. "How about it?"

Traitorously, Yuusaku nods his head. He wishes he didn't, and then he's glad he did. His mind spins and jumps and twirls, and so long after Ryouken heads back to the school and leaves Yuusaku in the courtyard, Yuusaku can still taste the kiss on his lips.

It was a pretty good kiss.


	2. Ema/Akira I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 02: change of heart

Akira tries to keep his expression neutral. He truly does. He's in class, in his desk, writing notes as class representative. But it's hard to focus when there's someone sitting across from him, especially someone who keeps smiling, or smirking, or making silly expressions whenever he glances up from his paper. And even when Akira tries to keep his head down and write notes from memory, he can _hear_ her swinging her feet back and forth, or clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and the moment he starts thinking about her his mind goes into overdrive and his cheeks start to burn and all the sensations in his body go haywire –

"We're supposed to be doing club work," Akira says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"I know," Ema says in a soft, sing-song voice, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Her bangs are extra flyaway today, and she wears lipstick in a shade so neutral that she can't be caught by the school. There are little details to her uniform too that would normally break the rules were it anyone else: how high her skirt is hiked up, how her socks cling to her thighs; how her blouse is unbuttoned just enough to show a bit of cleavage peeking behind her ribbon.

Akira tries not to stare. He truly does. But as soon as Ema catches his eye, she squeezes her arms together and across her chest, and whether or not Akira was staring at her breasts or not, his cheeks burst so red that it's clear he _saw_ and he _knows_ and that makes Ema chortle like she's made the greatest joke.

"We are supposed to be working," Akira says again.

"I know," Ema says again. And then she shrugs. "But I don't really want to."

"Why'd you become a class representative then?" Akira asks. Surely Ema knows about the extra work required of class reps. Who would take on the position only to do zero percent of the work?

Ema claps her hands together and steeples them beneath her pointed chin. She leans close, not far but just enough that it makes Akira's throat go dry, and then she says, "Because I like you, Akira."

Akira doesn't know how to respond. So he doesn't. At all. He tilts his head back down towards his paper, the gears in his neck creaking and groaning like a rusty, broken robot, and he goes back to methodically writing out notes and trying not to meet Ema's sultry stares. However, Ema is relentless. Every time Akira moves to write another line, Ema bounces the desk just enough that his pencil draws a line too long and he has to fix it. When Akira looks up from his notes, she smiles, or leans closer. And above all she keeps ... teasing him.

"Will you stop?" Akira finally asks.

Ema settles back in her chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "Are you mad?" But before Akira can respond, Ema leans forward, resting herself against his papers. "Are you upset, Akira? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry."

Akira doesn't believe a word from her lips, but for some reason he still says, "I'm not mad, but ..."

"I wasn't lying, you know," Ema interrupts. "About liking you, that is. I do. I do like you."

"Um ..."

"I like you," Ema says again, and once more steeples her hands under her chin and smiles a wide, beaming smile that could light up an entire _planet._ Akira wilts under her smile, unable to return even a single percentage of that joy. Instead, he feels something squirm inside his stomach, and his neck grows hot and sweaty like he's run a marathon. His heart thumps in his chest too, and he hopes Ema can't tell how nervous he is.

With a soft cough, Akira clears his throat. "Was that meant to be a confession, Besshou?"

"Ema," she says with a bounce of her shoulders. "And yep! Will you go out with me?"

Akira swallows thickly. She – she said the words, so brazenly and boldly? What kind of girl is Besshou Ema? But Akira can't move his lips to form the question, and before he even has a chance to answer, Ema leans further over the desk, her chest settling down over his papers.

"What will you say? Yes ~ or ~ no?"

Akira coughs once more, and tilts his face away so he doesn't have to make direct eye contact with her for any longer. "Besshou," he says, voice weak. He clears it again. "There are rumours going around that you are ... intimate with a ... number of classmates."

Quick as a whip, Ema says, "But I'm a virgin."

Akira blushes to the tips of his ears. He didn't mean that! He meant like hand holding, or cuddling, or kissing! Who – who goes all the way in high school anyways? All at once, Akira feels like the dimension could swallow him up. How embarrassing to ask that ...

However, Ema doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. She's still leaning over the desk, effectively interrupting his work, but there isn't a single feature of her face that looks upset. She's still smiling, her skin soft and smooth, her lips quirked up.

"I have friends, sure, but I'm not banging them."

Akira nearly chokes on his breath.

"But do you believe me?" Ema presses, pushing herself forward. "Something tells me you asked me that question with an answer already in your mind. You thought you knew what I was going to say, didn't you? Well, did I surprise you? I hope not. I hope you thought I was a virgin too."

Akira scoots his chair backwards, and the legs screech on the linoleum. "That's not what I meant to ask, you know ..."

"Then what did you mean?"

He turns his head away. It sounds silly now.

"You know, I'm not the kind of girl who'd just spread her legs for anyone, and I hope I don't give off that vibe. That's not like me at all. But now that we're talking, you probably had that image of me in your mind –"

"Wait, what image –"

"Naked, spread eagle, bound –"

 _"No, I did not!"_ Akira stands up from the desk. He knocks the chair behind him, and though it doesn't tip, it makes such a racket that Akira swears classrooms at the end of the hall heard him – and that means they heard him shout too. But he's panting too heavily to care what anyone else heard. Akira turns towards Ema, eyebrows pressed into his eyes. "You're messing with me."

Ema nods her head. "Sorry, sorry," she says in her lilting, sing-song voice. "It's only awkward though because you had such a dirty thought in your mind before you even asked me, and now you're regretting your words because I figured out what you were thinking and implying. Sorry, but that's on you, sweetie."

His ears burn at the nickname, and he holds his tongue between his teeth. There's no point in arguing with Ema: she's quick-witted and sharp-tongued, and only a fool would fight against her.

As the tension settles between them, Akira sits back down in his chair and pulls it back up to the desk with a huff. He picks up his pencil but doesn't write anything; out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Ema grinning at him like a Cheshire Cat. He tries not to indulge her – she wants to ask a question – but after a torturous minute Akira finally says, "I can't tell if you're serious about anything, Besshou."

"Ema," she says, "and well, if I tell you something sincerely, will you answer me honestly?"

It sounds like a trap. It can't be that simple; it never is with Ema. But still Akira says, "Answer?" And then before Ema can get her words out, Akira starts rambling, feeling his cheeks burning, ears smoldering: "I don't even know you that well, Besshou. And why are you asking me anything? Regardless of whether or not we're talking about dating, there are plenty of other students –"

"I like you."

Akira's throat closes up.

"I like you," Ema says again, and then chuckles. "And what about you, Akira?"

Akira feels like a spotlight has dropped on him, only it's hot and sticky under his uniform and he tugs at his collar. When did it get so warm in here? And why does it feel like everyone is looking at him when class has finished over an hour ago?

With a sharp clearing of his throat, Akira says, "At this point in time, I'm not sure where I see myself as a student at Den City High and as class representative of 1-B, so I'm not sure I can make a clear decision on the matter of, er, dating. But at this point in time, in reflecting upon my schedule –"

Ema snaps her lips closed but she snorts so loudly it startles Akira out of his seat. His eyes flash to her. Ema has her hands over her lips to muffle the sound, but it's still loud and echoey, and Akira's face reddens at once.

"You, you, _you,"_ she says.

Akira stutters through several syllables before he finally blurts out, "What do you mean by that?"

"You're just so _cute!"_ Ema says, and squeals in between her hands. "Your stiff upper lip upbringing and your dedication to the school, and the fact that your relationship hinges on your social standing in _high school_ of all things –"

"I'm taking my position as class representative _seriously,_ Besshou."

"Ema – and whatever, silly goose."

Akira turns his head away with a huff. "I have work to do, you know."

Ema leans back over the desk, spreading her long fingers across the papers strewn around. "I haven't heard your answer though."

"There's no point in answering your question," Akira says. "It's obvious I can't have a mature, serious conversation with you. Besides, regardless of my answer, all you're going to do is smirk –"

"Now you're understanding me," Ema crows, clapping her hands together. "See, Akira, we're _connecting!"_ Then she sobers, just a bit, and asks, "Are you still mad at me?"

"I'm mad that you won't let this conversation drop."

"Then why don't you stop talking to me?" She taps her finger to her chin as if pondering a deep thought. "If you didn't want to talk to me, you could have walked away, or said we're finished, or even ignored me. But you kept on talking to me, so to me that tells me you don't mind so much after all." A pause. "Am I correct, A-ki-ra?"

Akira stiffens, but he doesn't have a retort to that. What is there to say? Did he really want to walk away from Ema? No. Was there something to this conversation that he wanted? Yes. Does she frustrate him? Absolutely. But would he rather have left the conversation partway and not gotten to know her? Akira's not sure if he has the answer to that question, or if he'll ever learn it.

"Now," Ema says, drawing the word out between her glossy, pursed lips. "Let's get back to work, shall we?"

 _That's what I was trying to do,_ Akira tries to tell her, but when he at last looks up, Ema has her head bowed, long locks sweeping across the desk, and her hand moving at lightning-speed as she writes line after line of perfect, legible notes.

She doesn't look up from her work once.

Akira? He can't concentrate for the rest of the day.


	3. Aoi/Spectre I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 03: first date. technically not a first date but first kiss (and this was supposed to go for day 07 for other reasons, but i'm going to try and write 14 one-shots instead of nine for vrains week, so this one gets to be for day 03!)

_ There’s a rumour going around that several duelists have gotten together. I’m not sure how I feel about it, or if I should feel anything about it at all. Maybe I’m a bit curious – what are they even doing? Are they snuggling? Kissing? Feeling each other up? … more? I don’t even know what kids my age could be getting up to; I feel so old and out of place. _

Aoi sighs into her palm and gazes around the Link Vrains city centre. Ever since she started dating Spectre, she’s seen couples everywhere: at parks and restaurants; on the dueling circuit; on television. It seems like everyone nowadays is hooking up with someone. But what makes Aoi curious – and in fact a bit jealous – is that everyone seems to be  _ kissing.  _ A lot. On the lips. Everywhere she looks there are people publicly displaying their love as if no one else in the world can see them.

It’s honestly a bit gross.

But … she also can’t help but watch them. There are even duelists her age, in high school, who have kissed their partner. And the kiss is so effortless, just a tilt of the head, a purse of the lips – and connection.

It looks far too easy. But even though it’s so easy, and everyone in the entire universe seems to be doing it, Aoi has never kissed Spectre before. She’s barely held his hand. 

Aoi turns her head towards the table. Across from her sits Spectre, twirling his straw between his lips and biting down on the plastic tube. He smirks when he sees her, and angles his head towards a couple sitting to the side of them who have just leaned in for a chaste kiss.

“I heard they hooked up last week,” Spectre says. “Not that I’m keeping track of couples like some matchmaker, but I’d say in a few more days they’ll be going steady.”

Aoi nods her head, tucking her chin down towards her chest. Even after the couple has kissed, Aoi’s eyes still drift towards them. The kiss … it happened so effortlessly, so quickly, but now that the people have broken away, their eyes are still focused on each other, and the moment seems to have continued on, transforming into sultry gazes and gentle caresses. Aoi tucks her hands into her lap and drags her fingers over her palms. What would it be like to touch Spectre’s hands, or his cheek? What would happen if she put her face inches from his?

“You curious?” Spectre says after a moment. When Aoi doesn’t say anything, Spectre tacks on, “Everyone’s doing it.”

Slowly, Aoi nods her head again. “Yeah … everyone’s been doing it. And we’ve dated for longer too, so …”

Out of the corner of her eye, Aoi sees Spectre flinch, teeth biting down into his lip. He’s nervous about such intimate contact too, believe it or not. She knows he puts on a show for her, pretending to be in charge of himself and never show any fear – but even he struggles with intimacy, as if he’s never learnt how to care for someone besides himself, and the thought of being close with someone sends his mind into overdrive.

Suddenly, Spectre’s cheeks darken, and he says, “So Aoi … we’ve had a couple chances before … in the past … and we’ve never, uh,  _ dueled.” _

“Dueled?” Aoi repeats, and then her own cheeks burst red. Oh.  _ That  _ kind of dueling.

“Yeah,” Spectre says. “Like for points. And neither of us have ever one-turn-killed the other too. Why do you think that is?”

Aoi swallows thickly, her mind spinning with wild thoughts. She wants to fan herself, or go for a walk and cool down, but every part of her body feels heavier than stone. “Maybe because a certain duelist named Spectre doesn’t have the Heart of the Cards and is too scared to take a chance?”

Spectre whistles to himself. “Heart of the Cards? What about skill then?”

“You mean dumb luck? You don’t have any of that either.”

It shuts Spectre right up, but just for a second. A slow, unhinged smile spreads across his face, and he cups his cheek in one hand. “But Aoi, it isn’t just about the duelist, but about their monsters?”

Aoi raises a thin, slender eyebrow. “Monsters? Like –”

Spectre’s smile widens. “Long ones, twisted ones,  _ thick ones –” _

“Got the picture,” Aoi cuts in, leaning forward across the table. “Got it, got it.”

“So anyways,” Spectre continues, “the duelist's monsters are equally important to the duel. You want a strong, diverse team that functions together. And if you want a truly  _ intimate  _ duel, you want your monsters to connect with your fellow duelist too – after all, both duelists should be getting something out of the duel. So it’s not just my responsibility, nor even my and my monster’s responsibility, to hold up the duel. It’s all about how we’re connecting, touching –”

“So you want me to get serious?” Aoi feels her cheeks begin to burn like suns, but she presses on, her heart racing to the pace of her mind. “You want me to bring out the big guns then? I’ve got my Trickstars – how do you feel about idols making music on you? And what about a performance – let’s dress up,  _ dress down –” _

Spectre coughs into his fist. Aoi can see how flustered he’s become; the porcelain tone of his skin gives away even the slightest blush. And yet Spectre tries to compose himself even when he’s shifting back and forth on the seat, obviously a bit turned on by the situation.

“Looks like you’re ready to go down on –”

“There’s a time and place for everything though,” Aoi says before Spectre can get the last word out, and her hands tighten into fists. 

Spectre nods his head. “That’s right. I heard Yuusaku and Ryouken had their first duel in Kusanagi’s hot dog truck.”

_ The – hotdog truck? But – but Kusanagi cooks  _ food  _ in there! And it’s parked in the middle of Link Vrains’ plaza where there are people everywhere, so did they do it in public? Could other duelists hear them going at it through the paper-thin walls? And how did they even  _ do it?  _ It’s so cramped in that van, so they must have been bumping into everything. Did they do it by the computer, by the kitchen, in the bed … _

Aoi falls forward into her hands. She hears Spectre snort and chuckle, and she flips him off. She doesn’t … want to duel him in public. Or in Kusanagi’s hotdog van. Or his and Ryouken’s makeshift “Knights of Hanoi” treehouse, or whatever that place is supposed to be. Where even is a good place to … duel? At home? At Spectre’s home? 

“I’m sure it got pretty loud,” Spectre says, his voice light and airy as if he’s describing the weather. “Imagine just going for a walk one day and hearing someone  _ breathe  _ and  _ gasp  _ and  _ choke –” _

With a huff, Aoi lifts her head, eyes narrowed. “And so what about us? What about the rumours about us?”

Spectre leans back and blinks. Once. Twice. “R-rumours?”

Aoi nods her head. “I heard from Naoki that some people think we’ve already dueled before. Apparently our duels get pretty rough and heated too, and I’ve even heard one person say that we’re experimental –”

“Those are just rumours,” Spectre says, “and it’s just because we’ve been dating for a while so people are just stating random facts based on obsolete data. Who cares how long a couple has been together, and what does that have to do with how many times they’ve, um, dueled.” He turns his head to the side, sniffing haughtily. “Kids these days, wanting to OTK their partner on the first duel.”

“Hm …”

“And it’s not like there’s a rulebook for dueling, not really. We can be experimental in our own way, and take our time, and enjoy our duels, because after all duelists create duels together and it’s all about the experience –”

Aoi fakes a yawn so loudly that it catches the attention of several people in the plaza. She covers her mouth, but leaves her hand just a bit to the side so that Spectre can see the quirk of her lips. Really? How vanilla.

_ Slam!  _ go Spectre’s hands on the table. “Fine, you wanna duel right now?”

Aoi’s eyes widen. “Wha –”

“Right here, right now,” Spectre says. “We lay down our cards, spread out our hands –”

“We’re in  _ public,”  _ Aoi hisses through her teeth. “Are you – are you out of your  _ mind?” _

“I’m in yours.” Spectre snaps his fingers, and then tousles his hands through his hair. “I thought you were so into it, so ready to  _ bring out the big guns  _ so to speak. What’s with the hesitation now?”

Aoi stiffens, and she bites down on her lip to hide her shaking frame. She’s never … dueled someone before. Ever. And she knows a bit about it, positions and styles and such, but she’s never really thought much about  _ herself  _ doing it, and especially not with Spectre; whenever that thought has ever crossed her mind, she’s just brushed it away, pretended it never applied to their relationship. But now it applies, and it’s bound to happen, and Aoi feels her throat seize up.

“I don’t want to duel if you’re so against it though,” she says at last. “You’re only saying you want to duel because everyone else is doing it.”

This time, it’s Spectre who stiffens, and Aoi sees him seize up like a coiled spring. “That – that’s not what I said at all. I want to duel you Aoi – lots and lots, in all sorts of places, and many different positions, with different decks –”

_ “Ahem.” _

Spectre’s cheeks darken to the shade of ruby-red apples. “You’re the one who seems to be rushing it. I’m just suggesting –”

“I’m  _ saying  _ no.”

Spectre thumps back in his seat with a sigh. Aoi watches him bring his hand to his face and moan once into them, but she doesn’t give in, lips pressed in a firm, tight line. 

_ This is ridiculous,  _ Aoi tells herself.  _ Absolutely ridiculous. Why can’t we just – why can’t we just do it? Any of it? It doesn't even need to be a long duel, just a quick match. And we don’t have to go all the way – maybe play with a smaller deck or something. Everyone else is doing it and no one else seems to struggle with this. So why … why is it different for us? _

She purses her lips once more and closes her eyes.

_ I bet it’s nerve-wracking for Spectre too, especially if Kougami Ryouken has already dueled. Spectre probably sees that as competition. He’s prideful like that … and we’ve been going out longer than Kougami and Fujiki have.  _

Something brushes her cheek, like the caress of the wind, and Aoi lets her features soften, just slightly. She can hear Spectre’s chair creaking back and forth, and the table shifting slightly under her arms. No doubt Spectre’s dying from the silent treatment. But Aoi feels the thoughts running through her head, like a wretched symphony with no maestro, and she doesn’t dare open her eyes.

_ Maybe there’s a way I can tell Spectre I like him, and that I want to duel him … soon. Maybe I just need to do more research. I can ask Ema for advice – she gets around dueling lots of people, so she’s sure to have some tricks up her sleeve. It’s better than asking my brother, at least; I bet he’s never dueled a soul in his life.  _

Aoi sighs, and she feels something ghost her face in return. The wind? No, it felt too hot and sticky. Underneath her folded arms, the table creaks once more, and it tips towards Spectre. Aoi feels her eyebrows crease atop her head. What … is Spectre doing? Is he trying to rock the table? Is he even there, or has he ditched her?

“Hey, about –”

Spectre’s lips bite down on her nose. With teeth. Aoi’s eyes flick upwards and she sees Spectre’s  _ red  _ skin all across his face, and his blue eyes wide in surprise. Aoi gaps, and Spectre gasps, and they break away so quickly that Aoi nearly tumbles backwards out of her seat. Her hands fly to her face, feeling the saliva on the tip of her nose and the tenderness of the bite. He – he  _ bit – _

“Wrong attack, but in my next turn –”

“Your  _ what?”  _ Aoi squeaks out the words. She cups her hands over her mouth and nose, and coughs, and glares, and tries to do everything all at once because  _ what the heck was Spectre trying to do just there,  _ kiss her  _ when her mouth is obviously not her nose, and why were his  _ teeth  _ in her skin, who kisses with their teeth – _

“Here, let me use a Spell Card!”

Aoi drops her face down on the table. Not a second later, she hears Spectre bang his head on the table too, but she doesn’t raise her head. She doesn’t even dare. Someone probably saw Spectre biting her nose, and there’s not a single logical explanation for that. How could he even miss that badly, Aoi wonders, but her throat is too dry and her heart beating too erratically for her to muster up the energy and mutter across the table, “And what was that supposed to be?”

So she keeps her head down, and Spectre keeps his head down, and when at last they break apart, Aoi wonders whose blush is more obvious, his or hers. They don’t say anything as they get up from the table and gather their belongings, and though they walk the same way, Aoi hurries off in the opposite direction just to get out of the uncomfortable situation.

As she’s leaving the plaza, she brings a hand to her nose once more and her cheeks burst pink.

_ What kind of duel was  _ that  _ supposed to be?! He – he bit my nose! _


	4. Ryouken/Yuusaku II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 04: becoming an adult - being an adult. well, it's more like Yuusaku goes to school and stops skipping class, so that's close enough to the prompt ;)  
> also thank you for all the lovely comments! i'm floored by how kind and generous the vrains fandom is! ♥

Yuusaku buries his head in his hands. The desk chair he's sitting on is uncomfortable, and the classroom is too loud today. Naoki keeps bothering him even though his head is down, and though Yuusaku hasn't shown a single sign of interest in today's lesson, the teacher has called upon him twice. All in all, it's an absolutely horrid day and Yuusaku wishes for nothing more than to pack up his bag and march out of the classroom and back home.

But he can't.

Nope.

He promised Ryouken that he'd stay in class. Yuusaku doesn't particularly remember agreeing to this, at least not until he remembers the kiss and his ears turn scarlet. Yesterday, Ryouken had let him get away with skipping, of course, but then he'd kissed Yuusaku on the lips as some kind of payment. But now Yuusaku has to drag himself through class with that thought running through his mind. It feels maddening.

 _Who confesses their love to you when you're off skipping class?_ A slacking student council president, that's who. Yuusaku even saw Ryouken this morning too, and even when he ducked his head he still felt Ryouken's eyes on him and heard a deep, "Morning, Fujiki."

 _Did I even agree to his confession?_ Yuusaku wonders. He agreed to kissing ... and to coming to class ... but to dating? And what about Ryouken? Did he even like the kiss, or was he just happy he scored?

All day, Yuusaku curls further into himself as the thoughts wash over his mind. His stomach churns threateningly, and so by the time lunch time comes around Yuusaku feels weak at the knees and too ill to pull out his own lunch. He keeps his head on his desk, and peers with one eyes towards the door.

And freezes.

There, standing in the doorway, is Ryouken. He has his arms crossed, but his face is smirking, that bastard. He looks far too pleased with himself, and Yuusaku feels his queasy stomach sinking towards the floor. Ryouken should be eating with his own friends, or attending to student council matters; if he's at Yuusaku's classroom door, that can only mean bad news.

Ryouken raises a hand. “Fujiki, come with me. I have something to discuss with you."

At his side, Naoki drops his mouth open with a sharp gasp. "Fujiki! What d'you've got to do with the student prez?"

"Nothing," Yuusaku says with a shrug. He pushes himself off from his chair, clenching tightly to the desk as he sways just a bit. He sees Ryouken raise an eyebrow, so Yuusaku pushes himself away from the table and stands fully. He grabs his backpack and swings it over one shoulder, and follows Ryouken to the doorway. Every pair of eyes in the classroom narrows on him, but Yuusaku keeps his head bowed and heads out into the hallway with Ryouken.

Once their out of sight, Yuusaku flicks his gaze up. "Why are you here?"

"I've come to see you," Ryouken says, shit-eating grin chewing at his cheeks.

"Eat with your own classmates."

"But I want to eat with you."

Yuusaku dips his head down, cheeks reddening.

Loud laughter fills the room. "When you blush like that, I know you've heard me clearly."

Yuusaku tucks his shoulders up to his ears. He sees Ryouken turn towards a classroom, and Yuusaku braces himself for a room full of noisy student munching away at their lunches. However, the room is empty – of people, at least. There are desks and chair neatly tucked away, and at the front of the room are several whiteboards cleaned away of all markers.

"Empty ..." Yuusaku mutters. He peers over his shoulder to see if any club is coming to take this room, but there's not a single student in the hallway either.

"We have a few of those, didn't you know?"

"No ..." Yuusaku brushes past Ryouken and settles down atop one of the desks. He swings his feet back and forth, one hand cradled at his uneasy stomach. He feels a bit better now that he's out of his raucous classroom, but the way Ryouken is watching him reminds Yuusaku of a hawk watching his prey.

"You know," Yuusaku mumbles, "about yesterday ... that didn't mean anything."

"Kind of like how the kiss meant nothing too?" Ryouken says. He takes a bite of his sandwich and wipes at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Or the blush that’s still on your cheeks – does that mean nothing too?"

Yuusaku rolls his eyes.

"That must mean something – and look, you're blushing again, and now glancing at the floor. I think all those things _mean something –"_

"I meant," Yuusaku says, pitching his voice high to interrupt Ryouken's prattle, "about me skipping school. That doesn't mean anything, not to you or anyone. I just skip school."

"You mean about how school doesn't work for you, and so instead of trying to find a way that works for you, you just quit entirely? That's what you mean?"

"No ..." Yuusaku says. To him, school is hard in ways he can't put into words. School is long and dull and boring, and sometimes his mind wanders to places it wants to, and other times it sinks far into a deep, dark hole. Dragging himself to school every day feels like a waste of his already-limited energy supply. And how is he supposed to fix that? Take energy drinks to school? Start meditating?

"Did my confession mean anything to you?"

Yuusaku raises one slim eyebrow. "Your confession?" he repeats.

Ryouken nods his head up and down, still grinning. "Yesterday, don't you remember?"

"I never agreed to that ..." Yuusaku says. His cheeks feel warm once more, and his throat sticks uncomfortably. Yes, now he remembers what Ryouken said. It wasn't really a confession, but it wasn't _not,_ and so he doesn't want to disagree. But still.

"You just forgot then," Ryouken says, and he shrugs his shoulders as if this doesn't faze him in the slightest. With a slight flip of his hair, he then asks, "Well, you have your chance to answer me now."

 _Now?_ Yuusaku thinks, and then his heart freezes in his chest. Oh. He lets out a deep breath that he quickly sucks back in. "That's – that's not what I meant –"

"But the opportunity is here," Ryouken says. He leans forward a bit, and Yuusaku leans back in his seat. "And waiting."

"That kiss meant nothing," Yuusaku says. He crosses his arms over his stomach, staring down at his feet. "I don't know why it happened, or what it means. But you're reading into it wrong."

To Yuusaku surprise, Ryouken doesn't speak for a second. He settles back against the side of a desk, and warm sunlight spills over his shoulder and onto the floor. Bits of light catch in his white hair, immaculately straight yet curled around his bangs. There are bits of blue in his hair too, a softer shade than Yuusaku's own pink and blue tones.

"What do you want me to make of it then?" Ryouken finally says. "I guess I thought something different ... special even."

Yuusaku glances down at his hands. Sure, it felt special too. It's the first time he's ever kissed someone, and who would have ever thought the opportunity would have arisen while he was out skipping class? But what kind of special was it? A good kind? A bizarre kind? Yuusaku doesn't even know what to begin to make of his moment with Ryouken, and to hell if he can actually communicate that.

Across from him, Ryouken twists his lips up. "Would another kiss help you figure out what to make of this –"

"No." Yuusaku blurts the words out before he can reel them back, but they seem to come from his heart. "Not right now."

"Right now?" Ryouken echoes, smile widening.

Yuusaku glances down at his feet again. His belly hurts from all this thinking and pondering and being put on the spot – but at the same time Yuusaku knows that he could leave at any time. There's no one chaining him here; Ryouken just wanted to talk. And Yuusaku does ... too. He wants to talk with Ryouken because yesterday, as weird as it was, was special too.

"Do you even ... want to kiss?"

"Yes." Ryouken doesn't even miss a beat. Then he chuckles to himself, and adds, "Are you doubting whether or not I like you, Yuusaku?"

"You don't even know me though ..." Yuusaku mumbles the words to himself, but he hears Ryouken shuffle against the desk, creaking and groaning the metal legs, and it forces Yuusaku to raise his head a bit more. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Ryouken looks at ease: arms braced behind him, shoulders squared, legs kicked out in front of him. He has the top button of his white undershirt undone, and his school jacket open.

"I guess it's true that I don't know everything about you, or even all that much," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "But one, I don't need to know everyone about you. Two, I'm not interested in prying into all the private details of your life. And three, I think I know more than you assume I do; after all, I've seen you around school."

 _What?_ Yuusaku thinks, crinkling his eyebrows together. What kind of things does he do at school?

"For example ..." Ryouken pushes himself up onto the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles and holding a finger out before him. "You don't have any friends at school. You spend some time with Shima Naoki and Zaizen Aoi, but neither of them seem like anything more than duel acquaintances. Then you're always zoning out or sleeping in class. I bet you have difficulties sleeping in general, and thus by the time you get to school you're so tired that you can sleep just about anywhere.

"I know you skip class and go home, but that you're also a dedicated student. You want to learn, but there just isn't a way out there for you to learn in your own way. You're smart; after all, you're a duelist, and that requires all the language and mathematics we learn here in school, on top of the added skill and strategy of dueling. School doesn't work for you because you're different, Yuusaku."

Ryouken pushes himself off the desk and folds his hands in front of him. "It wasn't a coincidence that I saw you walking home yesterday. I have a class at the front of the school and I see you leave every single day right around lunchtime. After all, a student council president must keep track of his students ... but also because I genuinely wonder about you. I've been interested in you for a while."

"Interested?" Yuusaku repeats. "And that means ..."

"Everything you want it to mean."

Yuusaku tucks his chin down. "You thought I'd go with you ... if you asked ...?"

"Go all the way?" Ryouken smiles. "Absolutely. I thought you'd go along with it and then pretend it never happened. But now I see that you have a bit more fight in you, a bit more desire to push back."

"I wouldn't have," Yuusaku says.

"That's not what I saw yesterday."

Yuusaku remembers that too. He remembers holding his tongue, and feeling his heart race in his chest. It's not too unfamiliar from the feeling he feels in his mouth and heart now.

"That's gross, you know."

"What?" Ryouken gestures to himself with a wave of his hand. "The fact that I like you?"

"The fact that you thought I'd go all the way with you." Yuusaku's words come out more like a bite than a simple remark, but he balls his hands in fists and presses on. "Who asks someone something like that?"

"I wanted to be the first one."

"The ... first –" Yuusaku swallows, cheeks burning. _That's_ why Ryouken was flirting with him yesterday? Because he liked him? And didn't want to _share?_ As if anyone else in the school could possibly like him? It all makes Yuusaku's head spin, and when he sinks his teeth into his lip, he remembers the feeling of Ryouken's lips on his own and that only darkens his blush.

"That's what I've been saying this whole time: you're different, you're special, and I like you. Three things based on _at least_ three reasons."

Yuusaku struggles to get his lips to move correctly, but they feel heavier than jelly and stick together like peanut butter. He wants to ask "But why someone like me?" and Yuusaku doesn't know if he says it or if Ryouken read his mind, but then he hears, as clear as day: "It's probably because I just like you."

"Probably?" Yuusaku's voice comes out as a squeak. "What's that mean?"

"I don't know," Ryouken says, once more with a teasing smirk and a shrug of his shoulders. "As I said before, I've never liked someone. I don't know what all these feelings and thoughts mean either, so I'm in the same boat as you. But if this isn't what being in love feels like ... than what is?"

"I – I don't know." Yuusaku doesn't. There's a fluttery feeling in his stomach, and a dizzy feeling in his head – is he in love too? Does love hurt and ache? Does it make you feel all weird inside? Is love supposed to feel good? Yuusaku doesn't want to have a stomach ache for the rest of his life. But then, come to think of it, he felt better last night when he lied on his bed and looked up through the skylight at the starry sky. And as he was laying there, he remembered kissing Ryouken and how good it felt.

_That's right, it felt good to kiss Ryouken. As short as it was, I can recount the memory in such detail that it would take me an hour to explain._

"I don't know," Yuusaku repeats.

The desk creaks as Ryouken leans forward. "Shall we find out together, Yuusaku?"

Yuusaku bites his lip.

"That is, if you're OK with it. I'm not going to force you to like me back. I won't force you into anything."

Slowly, Yuusaku meets Ryouken's eyes. They're a softer blue in the hazy, afternoon light, and the usually-sharp angles of Ryouken's face have been chiselled away by the sun to rounded curves. Yuusaku remembers those angles and curves brushing against his own cheeks when he kissed Ryouken. He remembers Ryouken's hands, and his eyes, and his nose, and every part of him that touched Yuusaku for that brief moment.

Yuusaku wants that feeling again.

"I ..."

"It's a yes or no question, Yuusaku."

"Yes."

Ryouken closes the space between them. Yuusaku hears Ryouken murmur, "Can I kiss you once more?" but he leans up for the kiss before Ryouken can even finish the sentence, and he kisses him slow and steady in the empty classroom.


	5. Aoi/Spectre II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 05: ancient times.  
> if anyone can figure out how this fic fits with the prompt, please fill me in. i guess i tried to go with "ancient" as past, and then about how Aoi and Spectre have been together the longest and are thinking about their anciently-long relationship ... or something ^^ anyways, some of you really liked blueghost, so here's another mini-fic! ^^

When Aoi gets to class, swinging around the corner, there's only one person in her vision: Spectre, sitting smugly at his desk with his feet propped up on the table. He has both hands behind his head, and his chin tilted forward just enough that it looks like he's taking a mid-morning snooze.

Aoi clenches her hands in fists and storms forward. She drops herself right at his side, banging just once on his desk to rouse him. However, Spectre merely rolls his eyes open and peers up at her, lips curled in a shit-eating smirk.

"Morning –"

"We need to talk."

Spectre's grin widens across his pale face. "Spill it."

Traitorously, her cheeks burn. Aoi glances from left to right to see if anyone is staring at her, and then she mutters under her breath, "At least answer your text messages."

"I couldn't be bothered to answer," Spectre says. Then, before Aoi can reply, he says, "What am I supposed to say to 'Hey, how are you?' every single day. What kind of answer are you even looking for? I'm the same as I am every day –"

"You could say that," Aoi says. "I can see you read the text message."

"Then assume that I'm doing good unless I say otherwise."

"I was starting a conversation." Aoi leans closer on the desk, forcing her breath to remain calm and steady. There's no reason to get worked up over the little things Spectre says, but then if she doesn't make a scene about something, then nothing is going to change. "I was trying to talk to you."

"Then ask me better questions," Spectre says.

"How about you try for once?"

To Aoi's surprise, a burst of colour appears on Spectre's cheeks – an obvious blush. Since Spectre's so pale, Aoi can spot even the barest hint of a blush on his face, and she knows that he blushes any time he's flustered or embarrassed. So what – is he embarrassed about texting? And asking her questions?

"I don't need to text you 24/7." He leans against his hand, cupping his cheek with his long, nimble fingers. "I'm not so clingy –"

"Hi there!"

Someone's arm wraps around Aoi's shoulders – Ema, a girl a year older than Aoi but who frequently hangs out with younger students and tutors them in various classes. It's not surprising to see Ema here today, and Aoi offers a silent prayer as her conversation with Spectre vanishes, replaced instead by Ema's casual remark of, "Oh, a lover's quarrel!"

Aoi feels her face burn hotter than the fires in her heart. "No, not that –"

"Just a misunderstanding!" Spectre adds, his own face redder than a tomato.

Ema hums under her breath and bounces back and forth on the balls of her feet. As one of the oldest girls in the school, she stands tall and proud, with her uniform clinging to her hips and chest. Most importantly, Ema is smirking, a coy little curl of her pink, glossy lips. She looks like she should be out of high school and in the work force; meanwhile, Aoi feels like a confused middle-schooler in a too-big uniform.

"You two just need to kiss and make up," Ema says, patting them both on the shoulders. Then, glancing from Aoi to Spectre, she adds, "But I think I'm interrupting something private, so I'll leave you two to your moment."

And then Ema leaves before Aoi can call her back. Aoi groans under her breath. Now she has to deal with the awkward tension of being with Spectre, and staring at him, and trying not to think about the word "kiss." They've never kissed before, and the last time they tried Aoi spent the next week unable to even _look_ at Spectre or anyone else. Across from her, Spectre looks equally mortified with a hand pressed up against his mouth as if remembering how he _bit her nose because he missed the kiss._

What an idiot.

Clenching her hands into her skirt, Aoi glances down at the desk. "Wanna ... go for a walk before class?"

"Sure," Spectre says, and though he tries to smile, it looks a bit weaker on his waxen face.

The two of them head out of the classroom together, ignoring the wry smiles that seem to follow them wherever they go. Aoi doesn't like being on the roof, and Spectre prefers standing on solid ground, so they head out the front doors and into a quaint garden at the side of the school. Wildflowers poke through the gentle sprigs of grass. All along the walkway are wooden planters filled with bright, springtime flowers that sway in the mid-morning breeze.

Out in nature, Spectre flourishes. He drags his hands along the wooden boards of the flowerbeds, fingers caressing the delicate petals hanging off the flower stems. As a member of the gardening club, Spectre tends to all these plants. He probably knows the names of every single one, and as he walks down the rows of pots, Aoi sees him mumble their botanical names under his breath.

"She's pretty pushy ... isn't she?" Aoi says, more to herself than to Spectre.

But Spectre hears her; he doesn't turn around, but over his shoulder he says, "Isn't everyone though? Gossip travels through this school faster than a virus."

"But she's not right ... I don't think." Aoi brings her arms up to her chest, and she holds her hands together as if she's keeping herself intact. "You're OK with how things are, right?"

"Like what?" Spectre says. "

"Our relationship."

"You mean us not kissing?"

Her throat clenches up, and quickly Aoi shakes her head. No, she doesn't want to think about kissing, or anything more than that. "I mean our relationship in general, not the things we do to each other."

Spectre turns around, the dirt under his feet crunching and crackling. He has one hand in his pocket, and the other one resting along the wide petals of a purple flower. "But don't the things we do to each other make the relationship? You don't just say 'we're dating' and then do nothing about it ... right?"

But even Spectre doesn't look convinced, and Aoi doesn't know how to respond. Her mind spins round and round in vicious circles, and eventually she feels so dizzy that she looks down at her sweaty palms. What does being in a relationship even mean? Is it about the 'being together' or the 'doing stuff together?' No one ever teaches you what it means to be in love – they only tell you how to _fall_ in love. Well now she's fallen well into love but she's dangling from a single thread over a pool of sharks wondering how she'll ever figure out how to swim from up here.

It's messy.

"Are we even in love?" Spectre asks.

"Huh?" Aoi raises her head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Are. We. In. Love?" Spectre spells the sentence out for her. "Like is this what love looks like? What it feels like?"

"Are we doing it wrong ...?" Aoi swallows thickly. There are plenty of students dating at her school, and now that she thinks about it, her and Spectre look different from everyone else. They're too casual, too young, too quiet. They haven't kissed, barely held hands; they only walk home together because they live close by, not because they want to spend time together ... or maybe they do and Aoi just doesn't know what it means to be with someone else.

It's complicated.

"What if we're not actually dating?"

Aoi raises an eyebrow. "What's that even supposed to mean?"

"Can we even call ourselves a couple?" Cracks appears in Spectre's smirking face: fear. Genuine fear pops through the cracks in his mask, and Aoi sees his lips begin to quiver. Spectre doesn't like to be by himself. He tells her that there's always someone with him – the plants, the trees, Mother Nature herself – but truly Spectre refuses to be alone. And so, as the barriers around him start to break, Aoi sees him question whether he's been alone all this time.

"We text," Aoi says. "That means we're in love. We text each other."

"We text each other _hello –"_

"That counts." Aoi balls her hands in fists. "That counts."

"I text Ryouken more than I text you though." Spectre shrugs. "Does that mean I'm dating Ryouken?"

Now he's just been foolish. Aoi's cheeks flush, and she tilts her head down towards the rows of blossoming flowers lining the path. She hopes there are no classroom windows open or else an entire class is eavesdropping on hers and Spectre's private conversation. Fortunately, there's no one walking around the courtyard at lunch time. It's just the two of them behind the school, standing together in the looming shadows of the great building. Just the two of them, together, figuring shit out –

"Maybe we're not dating," Aoi says. "Maybe that's why it doesn't work between us, and it works for everyone else. Maybe ... maybe we were never dating in the first place."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Spectre's eyes widen – and then they blur as Aoi's own eyes fill with fat tears that roll down her hot cheeks. She tips her head forward so that her bangs cover her eyes, but the tears drip onto her blouse and to the ground below. She doesn't dare bring her hands up to shield her eyes though. That would only make her crying more obvious.

"I mean, what do we even do that can be considered couple stuff? We're just putting on an act for everyone and pretending we're the same, but really we're wannabes. Wannabe lovers. And I guess we've never tried, but I thought ..." Aoi sniffles. "I thought we were dating –

"I think we are –"

"You _think?"_ Her voice cracks deep within her chest, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. "How can you _think_ we're dating? Aren't you supposed to _know?_ Everyone else seems to know. Everyone else seems to figure out when they're dating and how to date and how to stay in love. Did they all take a class in romance? Where did they go? And how come we _both_ missed that lesson? I want to be in love ... but if we're not in love, then what are we? If texting is not love, if walking home is not love, if us talking about love is not love ... then what do we have to do?"

"We have to kiss –"

"I don't want to!" She throws herself forward, voice pitched so high that the whole school must have heard her. But Aoi doesn't have a second to care, her mind too frazzled. "I don't want to be like everyone else," she says, much softer, though her words blend together as if she's racing to get them past her lips before her thoughts disappear. "I don't want to just be your partner. I want to be in love."

"Then let's be in love."

Aoi blinks. "Huh?"

"Let's be in love. Who cares what everyone else thinks?"

Slowly, Aoi lifts her head. Through her bangs, Spectre stands with both hands in his pockets and his head bowed. He looks cowed by his thoughts, but he keeps on speaking.

"I don't want to be like everyone else either. I don't care if we haven't kissed, or that sometimes we don't text each other every day. I don't care – and I don't think you do either. I think we try to care, but it's all an act. So let's stop caring."

Tears fill her eyes once more. "What does that even m-mean?" Aoi says, lips wobbling as she tries to hold herself together.

"Probably something ridiculous," Spectre says, and the next thing Aoi knows there are arms around her and a chest to press her face into. As she presses into Spectre's embrace, she cries harder, muffling a sob into his jacket.

"I d-don't even know w-why I'm crying," she tries to say.

"Because you're Blue Angel."

"That doesn't even m-make sense."

"That's fine."

And it is. It doesn't have to make sense, or matter, to anyone else but the two of them standing in the courtyard surrounded by wildflowers. Nobody needs to care about what happens between them because, to both of them, being in love is something they've decided for themselves.


	6. Ryouken/Yuusaku III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 06: favourite scene (so far). well, in Tsurezure there are a lot of adorable Ryouko/Akagi moments, so i just went with a general datastorm idea ^^

_ Recently, my boyfriend has been troubled over something, but he won't tell me. My boyfriend Ryouken, that is. That's the only one I have. _

Yuusaku snorts into his hand and shakes the thought away. It's true though: Ryouken has been more quiet and contemplative. Yuusaku is sure that Ryouken is a thinker, but he's often more vocal about his thoughts, projecting them for the world to hear and see and help with. But over the past couple of days Yuusaku hasn't heard much from him, and on Friday Ryouken didn't say anything about plans for the weekend.

With a sigh, Yuusaku sinks down into his chair. But today is different though. Today he's in Link Vrains, a virtual reality dueling system created and managed by Sol Technologies. It's a central hub for duelists all around the world, connecting duelists far and near who play the trading card game Duel Monsters. Yuusaku doesn't like the social aspects all that much, but he enjoys dueling ... er, he participates in the dueling with a feeling akin to needing to win or else his sense of worth decreases.

But still, Yuusaku like Link Vrains. It has a bright, cheery atmosphere, and there are so many duelists around that even as the top duelist, Yuusaku still feels anonymous. He's turned off all chat and duel request options so that no one can bother him, and though occasionally someone will come up to him and say, "Playmaker, can I take a selfie with you!", Yuusaku normally stays up on the roofs of buildings and away from heavily populated areas.

Today though, he sits in the shade of a great tree, with his back pressed into the soft grass. No one has bothered him here, and though Yuusaku can hear chatter in his ears, there's one voice in particular that he can focus on and that drowns out anyone else's voice: Ryouken's voice. Ryouken is a duelist too, known in Link Vrains as Revolver. His avatar is dorky and stands out too much: white bodysuit, large helmet with glass over his face, gun earring. But it sounds like the same Ryouken, and Yuusaku can't get enough of his boyfriend's voice.

There's a new person here today too, a boy Ryouken's age with blue and red hair and a big, smiley face that changes expressions every couple of seconds. His outfit reminds Yuusaku of his own and Ryouken's, stretchy coloured suit and all, but it's blue and yellow and slick, so Yuusaku imagines his D-Board is meant for speed and not stealth.

Whoever the new guy is, he's loud. Chatty loud.

Yuusaku rolls himself up and leans against the trunk of a tree. Come to think of it, he's never seen Ryouken with any friends before. Yuusaku himself has two acquaintances that Ryouken is aware of, but Yuusaku has never seen Ryouken hanging out with friends.

_ Is this his dueling friend?  _ Yuusaku wonders. Ryouken must have friends, sure, but ... this guy can't be Ryouken's friend. He's far too loud and cheery, and nothing like either Ryouken or Yuusaku. Their personalities clash far too much.

But then Ryouken says, "Long time no see, Takeru," and Yuusaku's mouth drops. They're ... friends? Good enough friends to be "long time no see"-ing with too!

"Ey," Takeru says with a salute. “How goes it?"

"It goes well," Ryouken says with a nod of his head, and his lips quirk in his trademark, shit-eating smirk that Yuusaku has seen far too much of these past few days. Even from twenty or so feet away, Yuusaku can see every detail clear as day. Ryouken and Takeru are sitting at a little coffee table sipping on juice, and both of them are loud enough that Yuusaku can hear the conversation as if they were both standing right next to him.

"Are you here to duel today?" Takeru asks, leaning over the table. The sunlight catches on the edge of his duel disk – a new model too, sleek and slim, and certainly older than Yuusaku's prehistoric tech. Self-consciously, Yuusaku brings his arm up to his chest.

"Not today," Ryouken says.

"Eh?" Takeru tilts his head to the side. "Then why're you out here? Just got bored?" But then, before Ryouken can answer, Takeru says, "I've already won three duels this morning and it's not even noon. I swear, are we getting better or is the competition getting weaker? I feel bad for the duelists I'm facing – I don't want to break their egos, but it's not fair to go easy on someone.

"And ..." Takeru cups his face in his hands. "I came here to find you."

"Me?" Ryouken says with a raise of an eyebrow.

"I knew you'd be here regardless of whether or not you were dueling. It was like Link Vrains was calling to me to come and check up on you."

"I assure you, I'm fine –"

"Are you now?" Takeru snorts into his hand, and then twists his head to the side to gaze at Ryouken through the sides of his eyes. Yuusaku can see a teasing smirk on Takeru's lips, and it makes Yuusaku stifle a quiet laugh. He can barely smile as it is, so he's never been able to outsmirk Ryouken. Takeru puts up a valiant effort though, and even Ryouken glances down at his hands with a short cough.

"Looks like something's troubling you," Takeru says, "and you can't fool me. I can see right through you, so ..." Takeru takes a long, deep sip from his juice. "I'm here to listen."

Yuusaku blinks. Who is this guy? Yuusaku isn't jealous – just plain curious. Who is this new guy and what is his relationship with Ryouken? Have they been childhood friends? Are they dueling partners on a non-professional dueling circuit? But then Yuusaku sees Ryouken settle down, lower his shoulders as he lets his barriers drop.

_ Talk to him,  _ Yuusaku thinks.  _ Ryouken, if not to me, then to him – tell someone about what's going on. _

"My boyfriend is so cute that it's painful."

Yuusaku chokes – loudly too, and he slaps his hands over his mouth as he coughs and coughs, stifling the noises into the thin, skin-tight sleeves of his outfit. He chokes on his own spit of all things, but even through the coughing Yuusaku hears Takeru chuckle and say, "How sweet."

"Painful."

Through his fingers, Yuusaku sees Takeru grinning and blushing. A blush look good on Takeru too, his skin fiery warm but doesn't stand out against the reds of his dueling outfit.

"For someone like you to be troubled by love, Ryouken, that's ..." Takeru whistles lowly. "Your boyfriend must be someone special."

"He is," Ryouken answers without missing a beat.

Yuusaku buries his face in his hands once more.

"You want to hear something?" Ryouken says.

Yuusaku peeks through his fingers.  _ Is this what's been bothering him? Are these his thoughts that have been on his mind for ages? _

"Fire away," Takeru says.

Ryouken's smirk widens. "It's my mushy talk for Yuusaku."

And he  _ finger-guns. _

Yuusaku sinks so far down that he feels his body drop to a lower plane of existence, as if the gravity in this area is too strong and someone forgot to code the ground correctly, and so now his avatar is glitching down to hell like that's a possibility in Link Vrains. He feels like  _ dying. _ His name was there too. His  _ real name,  _ not his duelist name, so if Takeru is a student at Den City High – which Yuusaku knows he is because there's a Homura Takeru at his school, and how many Takerus are there that know Ryouken too – then Takeru knows Yuusaku.

Across the table, Takeru raises his hands and pumps them up in some sort of strange party gesture. It's just as embarrassing as Ryouken finger-gunning or saying the words 'mushy talk,' and Yuusaku pushes his face into the scratchy bark of the tree in the hopes that he can scrub away the now-permanent blush across his cheeks. Yuusaku fully regrets being here today and listening to that. Ryouken can probably see him too, and Yuusaku doesn't want to turn around to see if Ryouken is winking at him, or worse, finger-gunning.

After a moment, the two boys at the table sober, and Takeru takes another sip of his juice, slurping the last of the liquid from his cup. "You still look troubled though, Ryouken. Is that it?"

"Yeah ..." Ryouken says with a shrug. "My boyfriend is so cute that I'm at my wit's end."

Tenderly, Yuusaku raises a hand to his cheek. What's that supposed to mean? Is he too much? Sometimes Yuusaku thinks Ryouken is too much, like when he asks all sorts of questions with deep, profound answers before noon.

"Sounds like quite the conundrum."

"Indeed," Ryouken admits. He scratches at the side of his helmet, and then adds, in the same deep, baritone voice he always uses, "Sometimes I want to just push him up against the wall."

Yuusaku chokes. Again. Not so loudly, and this time he doesn't put his face into the tree bark because ... because the more he thinks about it, the more reasonable it sounds. Ryouken is definitely more intimate and physical, so it makes sense, but ... Yuusaku brings a hand to his chest. How would that even work? His back would be against the wall, and Ryouken hands would be on his shoulders, or on his chest. His face would be so close too. Yuusaku doesn't like people touching him, so maybe he'd bring one of Ryouken's hands up to the wall and by his head, but it would still be an intimate position.

_ Ryouken's never asked for more than a kiss too, so is this something else that he wants and maybe he's too embarrassed to ask for? Does he think we're not ready? Is he worried he's moving too fast?  _

"Is that what Yuusaku wants too?" Takeru asks. 

"I haven't asked."

Takeru shrugs his shoulders. "Well, do you think he'd like it?"

"Of course."

Yuusaku snorts, the sound deep and gargled in his throat as he brings his hands back up to his mouth. Sure, being pushed up against the wall sounds intimate – but it's a big step and one Yuusaku isn't so sure of.

"From what I've seen of Yuusaku, he likes to be rough."

_ When? Where?  _ Yuusaku glares at Ryouken, lips pursed.  _ What the fuck have you been studying about me? Where do you even  _ get  _ this sort of intel? But more importantly, you don't know that! How do you know I'd like it?  _ I  _ don't even know if I'd like it! _

But Yuusaku remains behind the tree, watching as Takeru chuckles away. Ryouken remains seated and solemn though, and once Takeru has had his laugh, Ryouken continues.

"But both Yuusaku and I have exams this year, and so we need to study. I'm even helping Yuusaku study, so it would be counterproductive to start feeling him up while we're reading textbooks. If I cross that line, Yuusaku might become distracted and his grades might plummet. He might also not be able to hold back." Ryouken's grin widens. "And I can't resist him."

Yuusaku hopes he never shows his face at Den City High again. If he sees Takeru, what will he do? How can he act normally when Ryouken has said all of  _ that  _ to Takeru? And how can Yuusaku pretend he didn't eavesdrop?

"Thus" – Ryouken folds his hands neatly on the table – "in order for both of us to graduate high school and get into university, I'm fighting my own desires."

Takeru chuckles. "You're doing it for both of you."

"That's right. Yuusaku only struggles in school because they're no one to teach him how he likes to learn, and so I'm helping him. I'll even help him in university because he's so bright."

Yuusaku blinks. He draws a hand up to his chest and feels the light, pitter-patter of his heartbeat. He's ... touched, beyond speechless too. Ryouken really thinks he'll graduate? That he isn't failing school just because it's difficult, but because 'it's not for him' and school just isn't working with his learning style? And Ryouken  _ respects that? _

_ Wow.  _ Yuusaku brings his hand up to his mouth.  _ I never knew ... _

"What a guy," Takeru says, clapping Ryouken on the shoulders. "World's best boyfriend."

"That would be Yuusaku," Ryouken says.

Yuusaku buries his face back in his hands.

"And besides," Ryouken says, "there are ways to get intimate that won't distract Yuusaku. We'll use a reward system: if Yuusaku gets good grades on his tests, I'll give him a kiss ... or a handjob."

_ A – a what?  _ Yuusaku's mouth drops to the floor. Weren't they just talking about pushing him down? Why the sudden escalation? It takes all of Yuusaku's willpower not to march down the hill and shake Ryouken silly, but then that would alert them to his eavesdropping, and then Takeru would be there watching too. The last thing Yuusaku wants is to make a scene.

"I'm sure he'll love that," Takeru says with a wink. "Get good grades, get paid, get laid –"

"Maybe I'll try that tonight."

Yuusaku balls his hands in fists. That's it. This talk is cute, but he's not going to sit idly as Ryouken talks about the intimate details of their relationship. With a grumble, Yuusaku pushes himself to his feet and marches down the hill. Neither Ryouken nor Takeru see him until he approaches their table and bangs his hands down on their surface. Yuusaku fixes Ryouken with a harsh stare, avoiding Takeru's smirk.

"What's this about a reward system?" Yuusaku hisses from between his teeth.

Ryouken smiles widely. "A new strategy."

"It ain't happening." And without another word, Yuusaku logs out of Link Vrains. When he brings a hand to his cheek, he's still blushing. Sure, being with Ryouken would feel good ... but he's not ready for it yet, and even Ryouken knows that.


	7. Ryouken/Yuusaku IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i missed day 07; i couldn't think of a prompt and i went on a 100 km bike ride ^^;;  
> but here's day 08: what if? in the manga, this chapter is called "Boobs" and ... well, you'll see how it goes (: Ryouken's thinking about a lot of what-ifs.

Yuusaku drops his books down on the library table with a heavy sigh. Of all the places to study, the library seems like the worst place to be. There are people everywhere, and books too; and though Ryouken has tucked them both in a table in the quietest, furthest corner of the room, Yuusaku still grumbles under his breath about how it's too loud. It really isn't. In fact, it's actually perfect. It's quiet, and peaceful, and the only view Yuusaku has when he sits down are the bookshelves to his right and the window to his left. It's just enough decor for Yuusaku to feel at peace, and yet not too much surrounding him to distract himself with. But Yuusaku doesn't want to be all right with studying in the library; he wants to go home and cook weenies or go to sleep. 

Ryouken has other plans.

Across the table sits Ryouken. He sets his books down gently and pulls a pencil from his plastic case. He extends another one to Yuusaku when Yuusaku stares blankly down at his closed binder.

"Figured you didn't have one," Ryouken says with a smirk. "Do you even take notes?"

"... no."

"You should."

Yuusaku sighs into his hand. But he takes the pencil and opens up his binder – and then stares blankly at his textbook. He hasn't even begun reading this chapter, so he can't start on the exercises; not to mention he hasn't read the previous chapter or done its exercises too, and Yuusaku imagines he can't skip ahead unless he wants to thoroughly confuse himself.

There's a screech of a chair as Ryouken drags himself over to sit next to Yuusaku. He leans close, shoulder brushing Yuusaku's shoulder, and peers over at the pages.

"Haven't started?"

Yuusaku shakes his head. "Or this one too," he says, wriggling the pages for the previous chapter.

Ryouken sticks his finger between the pages and flips to the chapter. "Then here's a good place to start. Let's see ..."

Yuusaku groans to himself. He's not good at English; the most words he knows come from the universal dueling language in Link Vrains; ergo he knows yes and no, let's duel, and good game. This textbook has none of those words, and instead is filled with complicated sentences with even  _ more  _ complicated grammatical rules. Yuusaku thinks the English language is  _ made  _ to be confusing and incomprehensible – and yet Ryouken reads with ease, dragging his finger across the page.

"Are you following along?" Ryouken says.

"No."

"Then watch me."

Yuusaku does. He listens and learns, albeit with frustrated mumbles. Ryouken never gets upset though, merely shows Yuusaku another way of reading the sentence, or a trick to memorising the grammatical rules. Yuusaku twists his pencil around his fingers, but his eyes follow Ryouken's fingers.

English becomes ... easier. Ish. When Ryouken says the words, Yuusaku can understand them. When Ryouken says, "Would you like to duel?" in English, Yuusaku learns how to ask a question. They practice saying sentences to one another, using dueling as an example. It's not perfect, and Yuusaku still finds it difficult to move his lips to pronounce the English words, but he feels less judged when he's sitting beside Ryouken.

After a while, Ryouken chuckles and stretches his arms above his head. The sun dapples the white of his hair, and his blue-flecked bangs glow nearly purple. "I'm a good teacher, aren't I?"

"Good enough," Yuusaku says.

Ryouken elbows him.  _ "More  _ than enough." He leans over the table, cupping his face in his hands. A slow smile spreads across his face. "You know, Yuusaku ... after all that I've done for you, I think you need to thank me."

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "Thank you."

"No, more like a favour."

Yuusaku's other eyebrow raises up into his hairline. The last time he did a  _ favour  _ for Ryouken, it was a – 

"Let me stick my tongue in your mouth."

"What?" Yuusaku flinches, lips curling in unease.

Ryouken doesn't move. "Like make out."

"Then – then say that!" Yuusaku shakes himself out, pinching his face together. "Ryouken, that's gross."

Breezily, Ryouken sweeps his arms out and up to cup his chin. His smirk widens. "I wasn't sure if you knew what making out entailed –"

"Well I  _ do,"  _ Yuusaku says, "but I don't think you know what  _ time and place  _ mean. At all." Yuusaku gives another shiver as the words flit through his mind. Seriously? Making out in the library? Sure, they're at the back of the room where no one will bother them, but this still seems like the wrong place to be making out. And that's not even considering the hesitation Yuusaku feels about it. What would that feel like, or taste like? The only person he's ever kissed is Ryouken, but whenever he's kissed Ryouken, it's never been anything more than a press of their lips?

Cautiously, Yuusaku brings a hand up to his mouth. Would Ryouken's tongue feel strange in his mouth? And what about saliva? Does someone else's saliva taste different? When Yuusaku has kissed Ryouken before, he's broken away with tendrils of saliva clinging to his lips – but making out would involve sharing much more spit, or so Yuusaku imagines.

Frowning, Yuusaku says, "This is a  _ library." _

"We're in the back," Ryouken says with a shrug. "No one has come back here in the half-hour we've been studying for, and I doubt anyone will appear soon. I don't even think other students know there's a studying table back here."

_ Still,  _ Yuusaku wants to say.

"Besides," Ryouken continues, "both of us have done good work, so I think we should treat ourselves – and I want to treat myself to you."

Yuusaku's cheeks burst scarlet, just like they do any time Ryouken says such mushy, intimate words. However, Yuusaku remains firm. "You said we're studying here because I get distracted at home ... you know, because you flirt with me. If we're studying in the library, you shouldn't be flirting with me then."

"That's correct."

"So." Yuusaku levels Ryouken with a harsh stare. "What are you asking me?"

Without missing a beat, Ryouken says, "Yuusaku, will you make out with me?"

Yuusaku wishes he could dig himself into a hole and never disappear. Being in love, being in a relationship – it spins his mind in circles. And Yuusaku doesn't even know what to say or anything, so he buries his face in his hands and mutters, "You say the stupidest shit sometimes."

"Like what?"

"You know what."

Ryouken leans down, face inches from Yuusaku's. Through his fingers, Yuusaku can count the dark lashes around Ryouken's eyes, or the see the deep blue of his irises; and no doubt if Ryouken is that close he can see, through Yuusaku's hands, his burning blush.

"Care to tell me once more?"

Yuusaku pulls his hands away and pushes his lips together. "We can't kiss in the library."

"Then elsewhere?"

"We're studying," Yuusaku says. He pulls the textbook closer to him and begins to look through the pages; however, out of the corner of his eye he sees Ryouken sporting the biggest shit-eating smirk he's worn all day. And once they make eye contact, Ryouken stifles a snort that still manages to echo through the library.

Yuusaku grinds his teeth together. "What is so funny?"

"The fact that you're so worried about everything else. No one can see us back here, and no one's going to come and peek on us. We've been all alone for the past half hour. But you haven't said if  _ you  _ don't want to kiss. You keep saying how this isn't going to work right now – but if everything is working, would you kiss me?"

"I don't know," Yuusaku says. He does want to kiss, believe it or not, and he keeps licking his lips and wondering what Ryouken would taste like. But then Yuusaku doesn't know if he should speak up and say anything, and he swallows self-consciously as Ryouken's eyes travel down Yuusaku's face. 

Gently, Ryouken touches his fingers to Yuusaku's lips. He applies a bit of pressure, pushing his nail into the skin.

"If you are uncomfortable, I am patient and I'll wait. But I'm sensing something else ..."

Yuusaku swallows again. Can Ryouken really tell that he ... wants this? That he's just not sure how to go about it, just as he's so unfamiliar with so much of their relationship?

"I'm patient," Ryouken repeats. "I'm holding back for you, and if you're truly uncomfortable about this, I'll let go. But I think there's something else on your mind ..." Then Ryouken holds his arm out, fingers splayed.

Yuusaku tilts his head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"I want to touch your shoulder. You're leaning into me, did you know that?"

Sure enough, Yuusaku has leant into Ryouken's body, his shoulder pushing into Ryouken's firm chest. Yuusaku hadn't even realised they'd made contact, and he springs away – and then stops. Pauses. He likes the feeling of touching Ryouken. So Yuusaku leans back in, bit by bit, and closes the gap between them once more.

As soft as a feather, Ryouken bends his head and brushes his lips across Yuusaku's hairline. "I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder."

Yuusaku nods his head, just once. A moment later, Ryouken's hand settles neatly on Yuusaku's shoulder. His fingers curl around Yuusaku's upper arm, and he strokes his arm through the fabric of his school uniform.

"See, no one's even coming to spy on us." Ryouken's voice is deep and rich, but surprisingly soft, and though Yuusaku feels like everyone in the world can see and hear them, no one steps around the corner and shushes them. They sit together in the back of the library, bathed in the mid-afternoon sunshine creeping across the sky. Every so often, a cloud passes over the sun and the library falls into a moment of darkness – and Yuusaku lets out a breath he's been holding in.

"Want me to kiss you from here?"

"I don't care."

"It's a yes or no question, Yuusaku."

"Do whatever you want."

Ryouken stops stroking his arm. He lets out a breath too, long and steady, and then whispers to Yuusaku, "When you say that, it's like you don't care about yourself, or treat yourself nicely. I'm not 'doing whatever I want' to you."

Yuusaku can sense the unease in Ryouken's tone, but he doesn't lift his head or say anything more.

"I wanted to make out with you because I thought you might enjoy the sensation, but if you're not ready, we can wait. I'm patient, remember?"

"I'm not." Yuusaku blurts the words out, face tilted up. "Kiss me."

Slowly, Ryouken tilts his head down, brushing his nose against Yuusaku's. "Are you being serious?"

"... yes."

"Then I'll listen," Ryouken says, and he closes the space between them.

Yuusaku finds that making out with someone is ... personal. There's tongue, and teeth, and he's not even sure what he's meant to be doing with the rest of his body, so he clings to the lapels of Ryouken's uniform and pulls himself as close as he can. He tries to picture what he must look like, and that makes his cheeks burn. It feels embarrassing to be this close. Yet when he opens his eyes, Ryouken has his eyes closed in pure bliss. He tilts and moves to each of Yuusaku's advances, and when they do break apart, Ryouken's eyes stay closed for a moment longer.

Yuusaku licks his lips. He tastes what he assumes is Ryouken, but, too embarrassed to figure that out, Yuusaku merely sits back in his chair.

"Weren't we supposed to be studying?" Ryouken says. His eyes are closed, but he's smirking now, that bastard.

Yuusaku crosses his arms and huffs. "I thought so too."

"Could you not resist me –"

"I'm impatient," Yuusaku interrupts. "I wanted it."

Ryouken's eyes flicker open.. He leans against the table, holding his face in his hands, and says, "Now you're truly being honest." He grins. "You should ask for favours more, too. It's not all about me asking you what to do. Tell me what you want, and we'll make it work. After all" – Ryouken drags his fingers over to Yuusaku's cheek – "there is always time."

Then he claps his hands together. "Now, back to studying."

Yuusaku glares at Ryouken, but he dutifully returns to his work. He can't stop licking his lips though, or running his hands over his mouth. He feels ... different. Good, but different. And when he peeks through his bangs, Ryouken's entire face is glowing.


	8. Ema/Akira + Aoi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 09: family. it's Akira and Aoi this time, so it counts as family ... plus y'know something else happens ;)

Aoi peeks through the doorway to her brother’s room. He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over, with his arms twitching. Aoi recognises the position and gestures: he’s texting. She sighs under her breath. He’s been texting a lot these days, always glued to his phone like he has to take an important phone call or send an urgent message. However, it’s anything but important or urgent – Aoi damn well knows that Akira is texting some girl.

This only makes Aoi seethe, her teeth sinking into her lip. It’s not that her brother  _ can’t  _ date anyone – it’s that her brother is so cluelessly lovestruck that he’ll run off with any old broad and leave her all alone. The last thing she wants is to lose her brother, and so if she can’t stop her brother from texting, maybe she can at least snoop in and see what really had grabbed her brother’s attention. Maybe she can try the same thing.

Straightening the towel around her shoulders, Aoi pulls the door open the rest of the way and steps inside. “Akira, the bath is ready.”

Akira turns and smiles at her. His hair is mussy, probably from running his fingers through it. His cheeks are rosy too, and though his smile is natural, it’s a bit dopey, as if he were just looking at something that put butterflies in his stomach.

“Thanks, Aoi,” he says. As he passes by her, he rustles her hair; Aoi leans into the touch and closes her eyes, but all too soon her brother’s hand lifts from her head and she hears him pad down the hallway.

Her eyes click open. There, lying on Akira’s desk, is his cellphone. The screen is dark, and when Aoi turns it on, she sees his password.

And then she laughs. “Tindangle,” she types out, all the while chuckling to herself. _Why would it be anything else but Tindangle?_

The phone screen flicks open to a wallpaper of her and Akira, both of them sitting at the beach together. Aoi has her hair in long, curly pigtails fastened with heart-shaped ties, and she wears a blue polka-dot swimsuit with a skirt. Next to her sits Akira, dressed in a t-shirt and swim trunks – the most casual outfit Aoi has ever seen her brother in. He has a pair of dark shades on his head too. Judging by the glow on their cheeks, they’d recently come out of swimming and settled down in the warm sun.

As Aoi runs her fingers over the screen in silent reminiscence, she sees the notification bar at the top of the phone. There are recent messages – in fact, there are notifications on the corner of the messaging app too. Aoi clicks it open, intrigued. Inside, there are dozens of messages between him and … Ema.

> __**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  _ you’ve been to the beach before, right? _ __  
>  _ ever gone swimming? _ _  
>  _ __ if you drown, i can give you mouth-to-mouth ;)
> 
> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  I can swim. _

Aoi nearly gags. What is  _ with  _ Ema and her incessant flirting? Any time Aoi has seen her with Akira, Ema always has her arms around Akira, her lips pressed to his neck. She’s like an octopus, always cosying up to the nearest guy. Aoi thinks Ema flirts with everyone though, or dates a different guy each week. One thing is for certain though: Aoi doesn’t trust Ema one bit – and it can only mean bad news if Ema is suddenly texting Akira.

Growling under her breath, Aoi drops herself down into her brother’s desk chair and kicks her feet up. If her brother won’t end this relationship, Aoi will take matters into her own hands. No one matters more than her brother.

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  Please stop talking to me. I’m studying. _

Not a second later, there’s a reply:

> __**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  ehhh, what’s up? but we’ve been talking about so muuuuch? _  
>  _ _ what happened???? _ _  
>  _ __ is it because of thaaaaaat??

Aoi stiffens. What’s  _ that  _ mean? Did her brother get in trouble or something?

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  Yes. _
> 
> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  but we did it because you wanted it and asked me so politely, don’t you remember?? _

The only thing that Aoi can think of that Akira would want from Aoi is computer coding or homework notes. Did Ema give him some help? Aoi doesn’t even think Ema goes to class, much less studies and does her schoolwork like a diligent student. Aoi has half a mind to start searching her brother’s belongings right now for those wretched notes and shred them before Akira fails his classes from Ema’s shitty help.

But then maybe it’s something different …

Aoi sucks on her bottom lip. Then she shrugs her shoulders, rolls her eyes, and types back:

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  Whatever. Forget about it. _
> 
> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  HOW CRUUUUUUUUEL!!!! it _ _  was my first time too!!! _

“First …” Aoi swallows. What the  _ heck  _ did her brother and Ema get up to? Something that Akira wanted, and that was both of their first times? If it wasn’t homework, maybe it’s a relationship thing, like – dates! Aoi nearly claps her hands in glee. Her brother probably went on a date, and that was why he came home all woozy and lovestruck like Ema had shot cupid’s arrow in his heart.

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  It’s true that it was my first time on a date. But everyone goes on them, so what makes it so special? _
> 
> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  booo hooooo _ _  
>  _ _ so that date meant nothing?? nothing to you at all?? _

It was a date! Aoi leaps out of the chair, now perched atop it with her knees up to her chin. She tries to keep her celebrations quiet in case Akira can hear her from the bathroom, but Aoi can’t help but shake the phone up and down. Her brother  _ was  _ acting strange, and this makes complete sense. It still sucks because Akira went on a date with Ema, but Aoi can live with that. Akira will definitely drop Ema after this conversation, or Ema will drop him.

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  Yes. _
> 
> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  nooooooothing??? _
> 
> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  That’s correct. _
> 
> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  what about when you slept with me though? did you have fun then? ;) _

“What?” Aoi slaps a hand over her mouth. Her brother … slept with Ema? In a bed? What kind of boring, lazy date is that? In all the TV shows Aoi has seen of couples on dates, the couple often goes to a park or restaurant, and even if they stay home, they watch a movie together or cook a nice dinner. What kind of date involves napping? 

Aoi taps a finger to her chin, rolling the thoughts around in her head. Maybe Ema poisoned her brother and then put him to sleep, or maybe her brother was so bored on the date that he fell asleep? There’s got to be a logical explanation to this, there’s got to be.

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  It’s just sleeping. _
> 
> __**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  suuuuuure –- _  
>  _ _ but ~~ _ _  
>  _ __ what about the baby in my belly?

Baby?

Aoi freezes on the spot. Her hand clenches the fabric of her shirt, seeming to tear at her heart inside her chest. Through her shirt, she can feel her heart beating, and the sweat running down her back. Her throat feels hot and sticky too, like she can’t take in a proper breath. All in all, Aoi feels like her body is shutting down, all from hearing about the news –

A baby.

_ No,  _ she tells herself.  _ No, no way. Not a chance. Brother, he’d have had to – to  _ do it!  _ With Ema! There’s only one way to make a baby, so that means Brother would have had to been with her. He doesn’t even know how! _

Her cheeks burst scarlet. With shaky hands, Aoi writes back:

> _**Zaizen Akira:**  
>  How do you know it’s my child? _
> 
> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  bc i’ve only slept with u, darling ~~  <3 _

She sucks in a breath. No way. How …

> _**Ghost Gal Ema:**  
>  congratulations, my love – you’re going to be a father! _

Aoi screams as loud as her lungs can take. They rattle deep within her chest, but she screams a moment longer, dropping the phone in her surprise. It clatters against the desk, the sound reverberating off of the wood – and then Aoi hears the slight screech of the door opening, and through the entryway appears Akira with a towel around his shoulders and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.

“Hey, Aoi …” he says, raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing he –”

Aoi pushes herself back from the desk with a huff, and bowls past her brother. She can’t even look at him, not after what he’s done with that girl. Too many thoughts run through Aoi’s head, all of them wild and uncontrollable. How can she begin to process that information? Will she become an aunt at such a young age? Can her brother even legally become a father? How will he support the child?

“Aoi,” Akira says gently.

Aoi swings around, eyes blazing. “I can’t believe you knocked that girl up.”

“I –”

Aoi doesn’t wait for a reply, though she hears Akira stammer, “Wait, what?” Aoi heads out the door and slams it closed behind her. She doesn’t want to hear the rest of that conversation, or ever see the texts on her brother’s phone again.  _ That  _ conversation is too much for Aoi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> truth: Ema isn't actually pregnant, she's just a massive troll and totally knew that it was Aoi texting :3


	9. Ema/Shouichi I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 10: national hotdog day.  
> i will never stop enjoying writing trolling Ema :3

"I like your hotdog!"

Kusanagi's eyebrows rise into his hairline. "You like my ... what?"

Ema's grin splits across her warm, sunny face. "Your hotdog!"

Kusanagi feels like he could curl up into a ball in the back of the hotdog van and die. He looks from left to right in case anyone around the Den City plaza heard her, and then he leans over the counter of the van and whispers, "You can't just say that!"

"But it's true," Ema says without missing a beat.

"That doesn't mean you can just say whatever you'd like." His cheeks burn, and he looks to his side again. He's working after school at a local hotdog van; someday he'd like to own his own, but in the meantime while he's still in school he works part-time in a food truck. It helps pay bills and save up for his own job. Normally, he's busy from the start to the end of his shift, but today the hours have dragged by, and it doesn't help that Ema has appeared.

"Why can't I say I like your hotdog?" she asks again.

Shouichi coughs roughly into his shoulder to hide the blush on his cheeks. Ema is his classmate who frequently visits his food truck. She has a strange way with words; she moved to Den City when she was in middle school, and while her Japanese has greatly improved over the years, there are certain phrases she says – like telling him she likes his hotdog – that makes Shouichi's cheeks burn.

"Are you trying to say you like the hotdogs I cook?" Shouichi asks her. "Because that's how you say it: 'I like the hotdogs you cook, Kusanagi.'"

Ema tilts her head to the side, and her long, magenta hair cascades down one shoulder. She twirls a piece around her long fingers, and then purses her lips tightly. "Why can't I say it differently? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Kusanagi says. "I just think you're talking about the hotdogs I'm cooking –"

"But I'm not."

Kusanagi chokes. "W-what?" he asks, voice dry and raspy.

"I'm not," Ema repeats. "I'm saying I like your hotdog."

_ You're so embarrassing. _

With another rough cough, Kusanagi glances to his side. It would be great if another customer would appear who he could serve, as that would be a polite way of ignoring Ema. Maybe she'd even wander away even though every single day this week she's hung around the plaza for hours, sometimes even until the end of his shift. She's not stalking him, and if he tells her to go away, she leaves, but Kusanagi just can't get why she hangs around so much.

And she can't be staying just because she likes his hotdog. That's just plain weird.

"Hey, Ema." Kusanagi beckons her closer. "Let me show you something."

"Your hotdog?" Ema says, eyes sparkling.

_ "No,"  _ Kusanagi says. Avoiding her gaze, he begins to assemble a hotdog, starting with the bun in the box, and then adding various toppings and sauces. From time to time, he watches to see Ema's reaction. She watches him with rapt interest, chin pressed onto the counter. When the hotdog is assembled, Kusanagi shows it to her.

"You like hotdogs, Ema?"

"I do!" she says, nodding her head up and down, and dragging her chin across the metal counter.

"Then what you're saying to me is, 'Kusanagi, I like the hotdogs you cook.'"

"No." This time though, she spins around on her heel and turns her back towards him. "I said I like your hotdog –"

Kusanagi nearly throws himself out of the food truck, reaching for Ema's shoulder to spin her around. "Don't say it so loudly! People are going to get the wrong idea."

"About you."

"Yes, about me and all sorts of other things."

As Kusanagi turns Ema around, he sees the sparkling glint in the corner of her pink eyes, and he doesn't even have a moment to retaliate before she asks him, "You like your hotdog too?"

_ Why?  _ Kusanagi thinks to himself.  _ Why does she keep saying that? What can she possibly think it means? And why is that a word that she stumbles upon? It would make sense if she mixed up English and Japanese words, or bungled some grammar rules – but why is she asking about my hotdog? Does she  _ know  _ what she's implying? _

When Kusanagi narrows his eyes through, Ema only smiles sweetly. She even has an eye-smile: a little curl around her eyes that, whenever she smiles, seems to light up her entire face. And still there's a devilish side to her, as she knows damn well what she's asking about and Kusanagi can't prove her wrong.

"Kusanagi likes his hotdog too," Ema says.

"No." Kusanagi grinds out the words between his clenched teeth. "I don't."

Ema's mouth opens into a little, round 'o' shape. "Oh?"

"I  _ don't,"  _ Kusanagi repeats.

"Then how come your face gets all red when you talk about your hotdog?"

Before she can how red his cheeks can truly go, Kusanagi turns to the side and gazes down the boardwalk. There are plenty of people out shopping today, or even simply wandering around Den City, and yet not a single one of them has wandered towards his truck. Maybe Ema is some kind of witch who has cast a spell on his food truck. That was she can torture him mercilessly for the entire afternoon and evening.

"My face doesn't get red –"

"Because you're a pervert?"

"No! It's because you're always hanging around here."

"Hanging around ... what's that mean?"

_ You don't know what that means?  _ Kusanagi wishes he could bang his head on the metal countertop and never wake up.  _ But you know what pervert means... _

"Uh, you're always coming here while I'm working and ... talking with me."

"Is that perverted?"

"No! No, it's not." He glances around again to see if anyone has overheard them. Ema doesn't have a quiet voice, believe it or not, and her words seem to echo around the entire square. He wouldn't be surprised if someone is recording their conversation right now and uploading it to YouTube. He can even imagine the headline:  _ Foreign Girl Can't Stop Talking About Man's Hotdog.  _ It would be viral in  _ days. _

"Neither of us are saying anything perverted, OK?"  _ I think, at least. Who knows what Ema is trying to say. _

But Ema doesn't seem to hear him, her face turned towards the square. She looks out over the bustling people milling around, and then, when she at last looks back at him, her entire face is pinched together like she sucked on a lemon.

"Are you looking for their hotdogs?"

"No!" Kusanagi drops his hands down on the counter and sucks in a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. "I'm not looking for anyone's hotdogs – I don't even know what that means, or what you mean. Please, just ... if you want to buy some food, then stay here, but if not ... don't you have homework?"

As if Kusanagi flipped a switch, Ema's light and cheery attitude disappears. She hands her head forward, her long bangs covering her pink eyes, and her shoulders hunch forward. Softly, she whispers up to him, "You're confusing."

"I'm –" Kusanagi bites back the words.  _ I'm confusing! You're asking me about my  _ hotdog!  _ How am I supposed to interpret that? How am I supposed to think about anything  _ but  _ the obvious interpretation? How am I supposed to take you seriously and not be confused when you're asking about something like  _ that? But Kusanagi doesn't say anything, not when he sees Ema holds herself like she's trying to keep her arms attached to her body.

"I'm sorry," Kusanagi says after a moment, looking down at the hotdog on the counter. "I'm sorry I'm confusing you."

"You are."

"I know. My bad."

Slowly, Ema lifts her head and peers through her bangs. She hasn't been crying, but it's obvious she was holding her tears back. Her eyelashes are wet, and though her eyes glisten, she looks a bit sad. Still, she gives him a faint, watery smile, and asks, "Show me your hotdog, Kusanagi."

_ What? _

When he doesn't immediately say anything, Ema steps up to the counter again and gazes up at him. "Show me your hotdog, Kusanagi. That's what you wanted me to say, right?"

_ Not at all. _

So Kusanagi pushes the hotdog closer to Ema. The sauce has begun to drip off the side of it, and since they've been talking for a few minutes, the ketchup and relish has soaked into the bun, no doubt making it a bit soggier. It's not even the best-looking hotdog Kusanagi has ever cooked, but he offers it up to Ema and says, "My hotdog."

"No." Ema crosses her arms over her chest and huffs.

"Then what –”

"But!" She shoots up a hand, one finger pointed up towards the thick, fluffy clouds. "But – your feelings about your hotdog have reached me. I hear you. I feel. you."

_ I wish I never worked here. _

And Ema smiles at him, warm and sunny like the otherwise peaceful day that today is. Kusanagi wishes he could appreciate the view, but all he sees is Ema grinning up at him, and the hotdog before them, and he wishes that today could zip by and end and he never has to see another hotdog again.


	10. Akira/Hayami I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 12: alternate universe. well, this is already an au, so i also used the "universe" prompt to think about stars.  
> also if you are waiting for the datastorm, trust me, it's coming tomorrow and the day after - a two-parter that i hope will melt your heart <3

_ Tomorrow, Zaizen Akira, my senior, is graduating from high school. I want to spend his last night in school together with him, so ... _

Hayami bounces back and forth on her heels, brown hair leaping off her shoulders. She's curled it around the bottoms, though her straight bangs hang on either side of her head and down to her ears. Since they're both still at school, she has to wear her uniform, but Hayami hopes with all her heart that she still looks beautiful before him.

Akira hasn't even put down his book. He sits in the astronomy club room, legs crossed, and nose pushed into a book about computers of all things. To Hayami, Akira is a master of many subjects. He's one of the top students in his grade, and he's the president of the astronomy club. At the same time, he's also a hobby computer programmer – and secretly, Hayami knows that Akira is also a seasoned computer hacker. She herself has dabbled in hacking a bit, but her skills are nowhere near the level of Akira's.

"Zaizen," Hayami says, tucking her chin down to her chest, "would you like ... to see the stars with me?"

"No thank you."

Hayami huffs her shoulders up, and she crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "Rude, sir," she says, puffing out her cheeks. "And I was going to confess to you on the rooftop too, haha."

"Silly girl," Akira says with a shrug, and returns to his book.

Hayami keeps on laughing for a moment longer, her voice light and upbeat, but once Akira has tucked back into his novel, her spirit sinks down to her feet, and she feels like curling up in a tight ball and never waking up again. Akira never takes her confessions seriously ... but then again, neither does she. She always laughs it off as a joke, or makes light of the moment, to hide the anxiety bubbling in her belly.

_ A bad habit,  _ Hayami thinks. She twists her lips as she tastes something sour in her mouth. Guilt, perhaps? This has been the fourth time this week that she's confessed – even said the words! – but both her and Akira have always laughed off the moment, or outright ignored it, and each day Hayami feels her heart grow a little bit heavier.

She likes Akira. A lot. And there's a lot to like about him too: his determination, his studiousness, his kindness, even his mellow expression. When Hayami sees Akira, she feels butterflies in her stomach. Those feelings and thoughts can only be about love ... and yet never once has Hayami been able to properly confess to Akira.

"Zaizen," she says, "it's your last night at school, and I want to see the stars once more with you."

Akira doesn't even peek over his book. "Why?"

"Because I like the stars ... and seeing them with you." Hayami shuffles her feet, and twists her hands together. She can't confess again, not so soon. "Please, Zaizen?"

Hayami holds her breath until she thinks her lungs will burst, but then she hears Akira sigh and close his book with a soft  _ thwump!  _ His chair legs screech back on the linoleum, and, once he's standing, Akira says, "Fine. Let's go."

They head out the door and into the hallway. At this late hour, the only people still left in the school are janitors and teachers on overtime. Since it's winter, the sun has long since descended behind the mountains and bathed the city in black; outside of the windows, Hayami can see the stars twinkling all around the world. There are tall, glowing pillars too – apartments and department stores, most likely, though there are even some smaller, nested places that must be suburbs.

"It's gotten late," Hayami says. "What time is it, Zaizen?"

"19:00."

Hayami skips along after him. "That's the perfect time to view the stars."

Akira doesn't say anything. He turns down towards a door that leads up to the roof. As president of the astronomy club, he has special permission to be on the roof, and therefore a key to unlock the door at the top. Hayami follows behind him, holding tightly to the back of his uniform jacket. Even with the lights in the stairwell, it's eerily quiet here, and the air feels damper.

At last, they make it to the top of the stairwell. Akira unlocks the door and pushes it open, and holds it for Hayami as she steps out onto the roof. Den City High School is a rather large building, and so for a second Hayami thinks she's up by the clouds. There's thick fog rustling across the ground, but the sky is effortlessly clear and bright. When Hayami lifts her head, she sees every star twinkling above her. It looks like someone has flicked white paint onto an inky canvas.

"Nice night," Hayami says, more than a breath of air than actual words.

Akira nods in reply.

While Hayami settles down on the ground, Akira heads to the storage shed to get the telescope. He returns with a long, cardboard box and a soft, woolen blanket. While Akira sets up the telescope, Hayami spreads the blanket. She wishes she bought tea and snacks from the vending machine downstairs – that would have been a nice treat to share with Akira. However, Akira is so focused on adjusting the telescope that he probably wouldn't care for snacks anyways.

When the blanket is spread out, Hayami settles down on it and tucks her knees up to her chin.

_ I wonder if Akira will ever hear my confession, or if I can ever say it correctly.  _ She dips her head down and sighs softly.  _ Maybe, if I set the mood right ... _

A gentle smile spreads over her face. She tilts her head to the side, rubbing her cheek along her knee. "Hey, Zaizen ... are you cold?"

"A bit."

Hayami's smile widens. "Me too." She blows on her hands; thick mist billows from between her lips. "Can I snuggle up next to you? Unless you have another blanket ..."

Akira turns around, one eyebrow raised. Though it's dark, there are several lights around the roof that give off a dim, yellowish glow.

"I guess," Akira says. "I'll try not to bump you with my elbow."

Hayami's heart nearly leaps into her throat. She crawls across the blanket and to where Akira squats. Then, carefully, she tucks herself up against his side, towards his back. Her head lays along his spine; against her cheek, she can feel the bumps and ridges of his back. He's taller and lankier than she realises, as if he's stopped gaining weight but stretched out.

"Is this all right?" Hayami asks, her face smushed into the fabric of his uniform jacket.

"Fine," Akira says. From time to time, his arm bumps back into her head, and Hayami shifts herself so as to not get in the way. Each time though, Akira offers a soft apology, and scoots forward so as not to bump her – and Hayami scoots forward, unable to let go of the feeling of Akira.

When the telescope is set up, Akira settles down on the ground. Hayami comes to sit next to him, and this time her head falls into the space between his neck and shoulder. Bits of his hair tickle at her cheeks, and Hayami rubs her face into his jacket.

"Are you still cold?"

"I thought you were the one that was cold."

"... yeah." Hayami tucks herself closer to him. It's a chilly night out, but Hayami can't get enough of the peaceful silence. Normally, when the astronomy club goes out to look at stars, there's at least ten of them, and most of the members are loud and chatty and much more interested in deciding what snacks to bring along. With just her and Akira here, it's blissfully silent.

"This is the last time you'll watch the stars from here, huh?" Hayami says it as more of a thought than a question, but to her surprise Akira responds.

"That's right."

"Last time to watch the stars with the club," Hayami says.

"That's right."

"And ..." Hayami lets out a breath. "With me."

Akira doesn't say anything.

Hayami feels her cheeks heat up, and she buries her face into Akira's shoulder. Before he can even say another word, Hayami tacks on a, "Haha, I mean we can watch them anytime, don't we live like a fifteen-minute walk away from each other?"

Akira lets out one meagre laugh. "Hayami," he says, and the sound of her name on his lips startles her out of her nervous prattle, "do you remember the names of any of the stars?"

"Well sure," Hayami says. "There's capricorn, and aquarius, and pisces –"

"Those are zodiac signs, not even the correct names of constellations. Try again."

Abashedly, Hayami lets out a soft laugh. "Sorry. I mean ... there's spica."

"And?"

"And?"

Akira groans, not loudly, but enough that Hayami hears it rumble deep in his chest and she feels her stomach begin to sink. "That's the first one I taught you."

"I know," Hayami says, "and that's why I remembered it! I remember all the names of the stars you taught me."

Akira looks unperturbed, eyes level and lips tight. "Try pointing out spica then."

Hayami swallows thickly. "Sorry, sir?"

"Find the star."

Slowly, Hayami turns her head towards the sky. She doesn't even know where to begin to look – there are  _ millions  _ of stars out tonight. Sure, she could put her eye to the telescope and start gazing around, but she doesn't even know what she should be  _ looking  _ for. What distinguishes spica from the millions of other stars in the sky? And is she supposed to know this? As far as Hayami remembers, Akira showed her a picture of spica in an astronomy book, not in the sky –

"You're going to be the only club member next year, Hayami, so you should at least know how to spot certain stars and constellations."

Her teeth sink into her lip. "Sorry."

"If you want to be president, you need to at least be knowledgeable, or else this club is just going to fall apart."

Hayami nods her head. Her heart aches when she glances up and sees that Akira isn't even looking at her, but his eyebrows are furrowed together, a common sign that he's stressed and upset. Hayami holds her tongue and refrains from telling Akira that part of the reason they're the only club members this year is because Akira scares away a lot of first-year students interested in the club, and those loud, rambunctious students are just tagalongs from Akira's year that needed a free club to join to look good on their student report card.

Next year, Hayami will be all alone. She'll recruit lots of new students for the club, but then if she can't even teach them about the stars, how will anyone want to learn from her?

"Did you even want to join this club?" Akira asks.

"I did!"

"Then how come you haven't learnt anything?"

"Because ..." Hayami sucks on her bottom lip. "Because of love, sir."

"Love?" Akira raises an eyebrow. "I guess I'm lucky to have a loving junior then ... who stuck around even when she didn't get a single thing from this club."

His words sound painful, like a great beast is twisting his heart into ugly knots. Hayami can even see the hurt expression on his face, and she lifts her head just a bit, nestling her body close to his arm, and whispers, "If I really did like you, Akira, would that be OK?"

Akira doesn't say anything.

Hayami feels her cheeks begin to burn.

_ I – I said it! I did! And no brushing off the matter, no joking about my feelings. I confessed, and I said it pretty clearly, and there's no way he could that any other way, so – so – _

_ But then why isn't Zaizen saying anything? Why is he just staring at me blankly? Does he not like me back? Did I confuse him? Maybe he's not even sure what to say, and that's why he's looking at me so vacantly, and so now we're just awkwardly staring into each other's eyes, and that's not romantic at all. This isn't how I wanted to spend the moment at all, no, no, no – _

"Hayami –"

"Just kidding!" Hayami interrupts. She sniffles into her hand, and then chuckles. "The cold must be getting to me, silly me."

"Oh."

One word. One little, teensy word, and Hayami feels her entire soul shatter and crumble to the ground. Akira doesn't say anything, and he turns away from her and gazes back up at the stars. The moment disappears just as quickly as it appeared, and Hayami feels like she'll never have that moment again.

_ Well  _ now  _ you've done it,  _ she thinks.  _ You're never going to get a chance to confess again. You're going to carry this ugly weight in your heart of never being good or strong enough, and Zaizen is going to travel far, far away from you and you'll never see him again, and there's nothing you can do to change that, and you have nothing left to say – _

_ This is it. For two years I've tried to confess. For two years I've been in the astronomy club. And so now, after everything ... I can't. I can't say "I like you." He's going to move away before I ever have the confidence to say what I  _ truly  _ mean, and so tonight I'm just going to hold it all in and mess up once more – _

Hayami feels tears begin to prickle her eyes, and her nose begins to run. With her face still pressed to Akira's bony shoulder, she has no choice but to bring her sleeved hand up to her face and lightly blot at her eyes and nose. She hopes Akira can't tell that she's crying, but he hasn't moved since they've last spoken, and through the blurry corners of her eyes, Hayami can't see him looking back at her.

_ I just wanted to be with him. I don't want to have this feelings, and I don't want things to be awkward with us – but why can't I just say "I like you" and move on with it? Why do I have to harbour all these strange thoughts and feelings? Why can't I just move on? Because if I don't let go of everything, he's going to move on, and I'm going to stay here, alone ... _

_ I'm going to cry. _

Hayami dips her head down into her hands. She can feel the salty tears gathering in her palms.

_ Please don't cry. Please. Please don't. _

Akira's head topples and bonks against hers. It stings, as if Akira didn't know where her head was, and so when he leaned over he smacked her. But once he's leaning his head against hers, his weight settles against her body. Hayami sucks in a deep breath and doesn't move a muscle. Is ... is Akira snuggling her back?

"Will you ever say it?"

Hayami sniffles into her palm. "H-huh?"

"I like you." Akira says it clearly. "Will you ever be able to say it, Hayami?"

She nods her head.

Akira shifts his other arm, and then passes her a folded up tissue from within his pocket. "Here. Clean yourself up first."

Hayami takes the tissue in her hands, but she doesn't blot away the tears dripping down her red cheeks. "Akira ..." She swallows the pit in her throat, though her voice still comes out weak and creaky. "I ... like you."

Akira leans his head against hers. "There, you said it.”

Hayami snuggles into Akira’s side, her face turned to the shimmering stars all around her. It’s such a beautiful view that, for a second, it takes her breath away. And then, twinkling right at the front of her vision, Hayami sees a star that she remembers, that she looked at once upon a time.

Spica.

She nestles closer to Akira, weaving her hand into his.

“Thank you.”


	11. Ryouken/Yuusaku V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 13: the perfect ending. this is just soft datastorm, but technically not the "ending" because there will be one more datastorm chapter - and then that'll be the end of this fic ;w; hope you enjoy this chapter (and this fic) as much as i have! ♥♥

Yuusaku hears his duel disk ring with an incoming call, and his heart leaps into his throat. There are only a handful of people who have his number, and of those select few, the only person who would call him is Ryouken. So when Yuusaku hears the ringing of his duel disk, he quickly shoves his homework under his bed and answers the call.

Ryouken grins through the holographic screen.

"Your cheeks are flushed already," he says with a smirk. "That excited to see me?"

"N-no," Yuusaku says, wincing at the wobble in his tone. "Why are you calling me?"

Ryouken laughs outright. "What? I can't call my boyfriend just to chat? No ... don't worry, I was just calling to see how you did on the mock exam. We got the results back today, right? And I didn't see you after school, so I thought I'd call to check up on you."

Yuusaku's eyes flicker towards the papers scattered under his bed. He looked at them, sure, but ...

"I ... got a C for my first choice college."

“C?”

Yuusaku winces. "Yes."

But then Ryouken's voice lifts up a note, and he smiles happily. "That's not too bad, is it?"

Yuusaku swallows thickly, and prays that the screen doesn't show his growing blush. His neck feels all hot and sweaty, and his hands are clammy holding the duel disk. Even his stomach hurts, and he has to sit rigidly against the side of his bed so that his stomach doesn't twinge painfully every time he takes a breath.

"But remember, I wanted to get a B."

"Ideally, yeah," Ryouken says, shrugging his shoulders. "But a C still shows effort, Yuusaku. Be gentle with yourself."

Yuusaku swallows again. "But ..."

Leaning into the camera, Ryouken pulls up the corner of his lip and grins. "Stop being so hard on yourself and let's go on a date tomorrow. My treat." And before Yuusaku can argue, Ryouken hangs up.

Groaning, Yuusaku tips forward over his duel disk. His heart and stomach ache, and his mind spins in circles. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuusaku sees his exam results spread out in the shadows under his bed. Though it's rather dark back there, Yuusaku can still see the clear score on the top of his page.

_ Actually, I got a D ... _

* * *

The next day, Yuusaku drags his body out of his room, down the stairs, and out the door. He barely slept that night, his mind too anxious about the lie he told Ryouken. He didn't mean to lie; er, he meant to lie, but only because he was so embarrassed about the grade he received. And now Yuusaku feels even  _ worse  _ because Ryouken believed him, and he's treating him with a date.

Reality sucks.

Yuusaku wishes he could log into Link Vrains right now and never again have to think about exams or grades or dates ever again. He could be an anonymous duelist who sweeps the scoreboards, and whose identity is never revealed. Nobody would ever get a chance to know him, and he wouldn't need to care about appearances or identities. Most importantly, he wouldn't need to worry about stupid school exams.

But when Yuusaku steps out the door and sees Ryouken standing there in slacks and a dress shirt, his white hair neatly combed, Yuusaku feels his soul creep down to hell. Yuusaku didn't even get dressed out of yesterday's casual wear: he's still wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt, both well-worn with scuffs on the edges of his pants.

"Morning," Yuusaku says.

Ryouken's smile stretches across his face. "Good morning to you, Yuusaku." Then his expression drops and he crosses his arms. "What the heck?"

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Ryouken tilts his head to the side. "You look cute."

_ "Enough,"  _ Yuusaku mumbles, and turns away. But then his stomach cramps painfully. Does he have any reason to be so cold and standoffish to Ryouken, especially considering he's paying for a date? It seems too harsh. Furthermore, Yuusaku begins to feel even worse about lying now that the date is  _ happening.  _ He can't spend all day pretending he didn't lie – he'll be sick by the afternoon.

With a soft clearing of his throat, Yuusaku says, "Hey, so ..."

Ryouken's face appears right in front of Yuusaku's. "You are already blushing."

_ Why?  _ Yuusaku tells himself.  _ Why oh why is he like this?  _ But instead, Yuusaku says, "Do you ... maybe want to cancel today's date?"

Ryouken's eyebrows rise into his soft, white bangs. "Why? Has something come up?"

Yuusaku stretches an arm behind his head to rub at his neck. "Yeah, actually ... I didn't do too well on the mock exam, and so ..."

"You want to go back to your house?"

"H-huh?"

Ryouken tips his head towards Yuusaku's front door, and wriggles his eyebrows. "Back to your house, to your room, to your bed –"

"What –"

"We going now?"

Yuusaku's entire face burns red, and he scowls. "No, we're not going –"

Ryouken's expression morphs to one of smugness, lips tucked together and quirked at the corners. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just lets the embarrassment fizzle around them. Yuusaku feels like he could curl up and die at any moment. Just how is he supposed to tell Ryouken anything when the conversation keeps getting out of hand?

"I know you're worried about studying," Ryouken says, "but we can at least go out to eat."

"Well ..."

Bouncing his shoulders, Ryouken says, "Maybe I was too strict about studying because I thought you'd take week-long breaks and never actually put in the effort. To be honest, good studying involves taking small, measured breaks. It gives your mind time to rest before you start up again, and you concentrate better when your mind is given a break."

"Yeah ..."

Ryouken leans forward and gently tapers his fingers up Yuusaku's arm. It's a light touch, and Yuusaku leans into it. He doesn't want to be embraced right now or else he'll probably vomit, but little touches like this feel comforting and reassuring, grounding him in reality as his mind continues to spin like a merry-go-round.

"Up until recently, you couldn't even concentrate, period." Ryouken chuckles down to his feet, and then peeks through his bangs at Yuusaku. His blue eyes glimmer, and the corners of his eyes are tilted in a strange, mischievous smile. "You always got so  _ distracted –" _

"That was because of  _ you,"  _ Yuusaku hisses through his teeth. "You and your touching and –"

"You're blushing again."

Yuusaku brings a hand up to his face. Ryouken's hand follows, and it settles just along Yuusaku's chin, with his thumb brushing Yuusaku's cheekbone. Yuusaku's eyes widen; if he tilts his gaze downwards, he can see a fuzzy shape in the corner of his vision that must be one of Ryouken's long, nimble fingers.

"It's cute."

"Stop," Yuusaku says, though he doesn't mean it and Ryouken knows it. "I got a C, remember? Stop acting like I won a scholarship or something. Shouldn't you be telling me, 'You need to study harder!' or 'Stop playing video games and focus on your studies.'"

Yuusaku turns his head away from Ryouken, and his long bangs brush over his eyes. "Stop treating my failure like a success."

"It's OK to fail, you know," Ryouken says, voice light and airy like he's commenting on the weather. "But another thing is that you didn't fail, Yuusaku. Why would I berate you for trying so hard?"

Yuusaku feels his heart skip a beat.

"You've been studying with me multiple times throughout the week, and I know you've been doing some studying on your own too. You put a lot of effort into preparing for the mock exam, so why would I tell you to try harder? Aren't you already giving it your all?"

Through his bangs, Yuusaku sees Ryouken smiling – a genuine, not shit-eating-smirk, kind of smile.

Yuusaku can't smile back. If anything, his heart and stomach only hurt more, and he curls forward on himself so that he can't see the gentle expression he should never be able to see. How can Ryouken do this to him? Yuusaku lied about his grades.

_ I hate myself. _

"If you're that worried," Ryouken's voice breaks in, "do you want to go back inside? For real this time too – you look pretty pale."

Yuusaku's throat feels drier than a desert, and when he swallows, there are shards of glass that rip at his vocal cords. His head is weighed down too, and so Yuusaku stares at the hand on his cheek, no doubt feeling the scalding blush across his face.

"It doesn't matter what you got on your mock exam," Ryouken says. "Honestly. You studied so much that you should be proud –"

"D."

Ryouken snorts. "What about the D?"

"A D," Yuusaku says. "I got a D on my mock exam. I  _ lied." _

Then Yuusaku drops his head forward, and his forehead connects with Ryouken's firm chest. He doesn't pull away. Ryouken doesn't put his hands on him either. He doesn't ask Yuusaku to say anything more, and Yuusaku doesn't think he has the words in him to speak up. What does he say anyways? That he was so embarrassed he lied? That he thought the grade not only reflected his shitty studying habits but also Ryouken's teaching? How embarrassing would it be for Ryouken to see that all his tutoring went to naught?

But Ryouken's doesn't say anything, and neither does Yuusaku. The warm sun beats down on their necks and backs. Yuusaku feels hot and gross, but he doesn't want to move an inch. He wants to shrivel up in the sun and turn into dust. Then that dust can float through the sky and pass on, and he'll never have to worry about anything again.

Then Ryouken speaks up.

"Want to go out to eat now?"

Yuusaku stiffens.  _ What? _

"You haven't eaten today, have you? Let's grab a bite."

He begins to pull away, but Yuusaku throws his head up. "Why?"

"We're on a date."

Yuusaku shakes his head though. "Why?" he asks again.

"Why what?" Ryouken rolls his eyes. "Honestly, Yuusaku –"

"Aren't you mad?" Yuusaku blurts out the words. "I  _ lied." _

"I'm more worried, actually –"

But Yuusaku cuts Ryouken off. "No, I  _ lied  _ about my grades –"

"I know."

Yuusaku's mouth drops open – not all the way, just enough so that his lungs wheeze a bit, and everything within him extinguishes: his burning cheeks, his aching stomach, his spinning head. It all goes away like someone deleted all the files in his memory and now he can't turn on again.

Ryouken continues: "When we met up today, you looked so down that I figured something was up. Even yesterday you were acting weird. And it doesn't take a genius to figure out what you could be worrying about. I didn't actually know you lied about your grades, but I figured there was something about it that was eating away at you. But you looked so worried about it today that it would have done no good to interrogate you or anything. I wanted to take you out on a date so maybe you could get your mind off of what was bothering you, but it seems that's not the case."

Ryouken holds out his fist and presses it to Yuusaku's head. "But if you want to be punished, I won't hold back for you."

And he smirks.

Yuusaku doesn't cry, but his eyes mist over and he tilts his head down so that Ryouken can't see how he's feeling. He doesn't sob either – just lets out a breath he'd been holding in, and then tips his head back onto Ryouken's chest. This time, Ryouken's hand does come around to hold his shoulder, and Yuusaku leans towards the touch.

"You're a good boy, Yuusaku," Ryouken says. "Why would I punish you for all your hard work? But ..." He chuckles to himself. "While I have you here, I might as well treat myself too."

"To what?" Yuusaku muffles into Ryouken's jacket.

"To you."

And Ryouken bends down at kisses the top of Yuusaku's head. Yuusaku feels the lips along his hairline, and he presses his face into Ryouken's chest. The warm sun keeps beating down on both of them, and though Yuusaku feels heavy and tired, he doesn't break away until Ryouken pulls him towards the road.

"Come. Let's go get some breakfast."


	12. Ryouken/Yuusaku VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 14: appreciation. sappy message in the end notes (:

Yuusaku rubs his hands together. He needs something to hold, but his cup of coffee isn't hot enough to burn the skin on his hands, and even fiddling with his duel disk hasn't eased the anxiety in his belly. There's nowhere good to look too: he and Ryouken are at a quiet cafe tucked in the far corner booth. Ryouken chose the spot specifically because Yuusaku hates being in busy, crowded areas; however, now Yuusaku wishes he were in a populous place just so he doesn't have to hear his anxious thoughts and worry over every single detail in his bland view.

Yuusaku _especially_ doesn't want to look at Ryouken, who sits across him from with one hand cradling his cheek. His hair looks even softer in the mid-morning sunlight, and though he says he only woke up an hour ago, he looks fresh and clean as ever. He's even wearing his trademark blazer. He looks like he should be heading to the office.

"Yuusaku."

He sinks lower into his seat. Today is the worst day of his life.

"Yuusaku, you're going to be fine. You'll pass your entrance exams."

"How do you know that?" Yuusaku mutters. He's failed most of his exams, or gotten the lowest score in his entire class. He could win the lottery before he ever passed a school exam, much less a coveted entrance exam to a prestigious university at Den City.

"Because I taught you, of course." Ryouken chuckles softly. "What, you doubting my tutoring methods now?"

"No," Yuusaku says, and takes a deep sip of his coffee. It burns his tongue, and Yuusaku relishes in the small stings of pain. Sometimes, when he's anxious he feels numb and the world around him turns into a painful, dreary black-and-white film. Today, everything hurts though: the sun in his eyes, the heat on his skin, the noises in his ears. Everything feels _wrong_ and Yuusaku wishes he never left the house.

"No," Yuusaku says again. "How can you be so confident?"

"Your grades have risen." Steepling his hands under his chin, Ryouken adds, "Typically when you study lots and put effort into your schoolwork, it pays off. Why would this be any different?"

"I don't know ..."

Fortunately, before Ryouken can get another word in, their food arrives. A server brings two breakfast plates for them: thick, fluffy pancakes with strawberries and cream, and a little dish of syrup to the side. Ryouken's eyes light up the moment he sees his food, but Yuusaku's stomach sinks to the floor. The last thing he wants to do is eat when he's anxious; he'll only throw it back up later. But then Yuusaku hasn't eaten since yesterday at lunch time, nearly 24-hours ago, and Ryouken knows this too. Thus, they're having breakfast now, together.

"Let's eat," Ryouken says over the pile of pancakes, and tucks into them before Yuusaku can get a word in.

From across the table, Yuusaku watches Ryouken devour his food. In the time it takes Yuusaku to lazily pour his syrup, Ryouken clears off a quarter of his plate. Yuusaku mixes the syrup around with his fork, blending the cream and strawberries along with it. This breakfast looks far too sweet and heavy; Yuusaku would have much prefer tea rice.

"Not to your liking?" Ryouken says, glancing up from his food.

"It's fine."

"You should have said something. Here, let's get the menu and order you something else –"

"It's fine." Yuusaku grinds the words out between his clenched teeth. "I'm just not hungry."

Ryouken glances down at Yuusaku's plate, then at his own. Then, carefully, he cuts aside some of his pancake not covered in syrup and sugar and berries, and offers it up to Yuusaku on his own fork. Yuusaku's eyes widen, but after a moment, he takes the bite. The pancake is light and fluffy, and without all the sugar and toppings, it's surprisingly bland.

It actually tastes good.

When Yuusaku looks up, Ryouken is beaming at him.

"A bit lighter on your stomach, right?"

Yuusaku's cheeks burn and he purses his lips. A moment later and another bite of pancake appears before him. This time though, Yuusaku takes the fork in his own hands and finishes off the bite.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Ryouken takes his hand back, but as he brings it towards himself, he glances to his watch on his wrist. "Five more minutes until our grades appear," he says, in a voice so light and airy he might as well have been commenting on the weather.

Yuusaku's appetite disappears in an instant. Five more minutes – that's no time at all.

"Do you want to go to the school to see them?" Ryouken continues. "They'll have the grade posted on the front board for everyone to see – privately, of course, so we won't be able to know who got what grade."

Yuusaku shakes his head. "We can just check online."

"Wouldn't it be pretty exciting to go though? We could take a selfie in front of our perfect scores."

With a snort, Yuusaku says, "Only people who know that they are passing make the trip to school anyways. We can just get the results online and save ourselves the trip."

Ryouken's grin widen though, and he pushes his plate to the side to lean over the table. Yuusaku forgets how tall Ryouken is, and when he stretches across the table, Yuusaku sucks in a breath. They're closer.

"All the more reason to go then – after all, both of us passed."

Yuusaku turns away. "I'm sure only you passed."

A gentle breeze caresses his cheek: Ryouken's lips, inches away from Yuusaku''s face. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuusaku can see the jut of Ryouken's cheekbone and the silver of his hair, and Yuusaku _feels_ Ryouken's words on his face before he hears them: "Yuusaku, didn't you promise me you won't talk badly about yourself?" A pause. "Would you like me to seal your lips?"

"We are at a restaurant," Yuusaku hisses.

"So?"

"Not right now."

Ryouken settles back down on his seat and folds his hands neatly in front of him. Yuusaku twists his head back around. Ryouken listened. Just like that, with no prompting or anything. And now he sits in his seat with a shit-eating smirk, his food forgotten.

"Thank you for telling me the truth."

Yuusaku's cheeks burn.

Then Ryouken cuts off another piece of pancake and offers it up to Yuusaku. "Stay positive," he says as he feeds Yuusaku another bite, who takes it eagerly. "After you pass, what would you like to do? We'll have lots of free time before our studies begin in post secondary."

Food still in his mouth, Yuusaku pauses. He's been so wrapped up with school and studying that he hasn't taken the time to think about what he'll do _afterwards._ What can he even do? Lately all he's done is study – or try to study – with Ryouken. Now they'll have time to be together. The obvious answer would be do "couple things," but Yuusaku can't imagine what he could possibly do with Ryouken? Go on a date maybe? See a movie?

_What did I even do before I started studying with him? I used to go home and work at Cafe Nagi, and sometimes I'd duel as an escapist passion to kill time. But now ... do I want to keep doing that? Maybe I can duel with Ryouken._

_But then ... should I even be thinking about my time off if I'm only going to fail? Because if I fail, then I'll have to wait until next year for the entrance exams and I'll be a full year behind Ryouken, not to mention that all his tutoring will have been for naught. It'll be the greatest embarrassment ever, and I'll never be able to repay him for everything he's done._

When Yuusaku shakes his head clear of his worries, he sees Ryouken _grinning_ like a Cheshire Cat from across the table.

"Do you know what I'd like to do?"

Yuusaku raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"Something lewd."

"Is that all that goes through your brain?" Yuusaku rolls his eyes. "Seriously."

"I am serious. I already told you, I've been holding back for the entire year so that I wouldn't distract you."

 _Really?_ Yuusaku wants to say, because he can clearly picture several of their studying sessions that turned into feeling each other up in various places around town, namely Cafe Nagi and Den City Library. However, Yuusaku also knows that Ryouken _has_ been holding back for his sake and not leaping onto him. They've only been fooling around to release tension, not to neglect their studies.

"I guess ..." Yuusaku says. He rubs his hands together, and picks at his food with his fork. "So then, if I fail ... will you wait for another year to be with me?"

Ryouken smiles at him. "I’ll wait another year to do lewd things."

"That's _not_ what I'm worried about," Yuusaku hisses. He peeks over his shoulder, praying that the server hasn't come around asking if they'd like refills on their coffees. Fortunately, it's eerily quiet in here, and the server is over by the counter sorting various pastries onto little silver trays and shelves.

"Hey, Yuusaku."

"What?" Yuusaku grumbles.

"The five minutes are up."

Yuusaku's stomach drops. The three bites of pancake and couple swigs of coffee slosh in his belly, and Yuusaku brings a hand to his gut. He eyes up his own duel disk. He has internet, and he's left the school's webpage open on his internet browser. He can check right now and find out if he passed or failed ...

"Ready to check together?" Ryouken says.

Yuusaku shakes his head and begins to stand up. His stomach cramps painfully and he digs his hand deeper into his gut. "I'm checking mine in the bathroom – by _myself."_

Ryouken doesn't move an inch, but he tilts his head up towards Yuusaku and lets the sunlight paint his hair golden. Even his eyes flicker with dapples of yellow.

"It'll be fine," Ryouken says to him. "Yuusaku, you've worked really hard this year. You've studied lots and put a lot of time and effort into your school performance. So no matter what result you get, you shouldn't hate yourself for it, all right?"

Yuusaku merely nods stiffly.

"I love how you always do your best."

And with those words, Yuusaku makes his way to the bathroom. It's a single-person bathroom, so he doesn't have to worry about anyone else coming in and hearing his faint, wheezy breaths or his choked sobs. Already, Yuusaku can feel his throat tightening; he can barely draw in a proper breath. He hasn't even checked his grades yet and he can feel himself on the verge of a panic attack.

_I love how you always do your best. What does that mean? Even if I do my best, I fail. Who would want that? Who would be proud of me?_

Yuusaku crouches down by the far wall, bum off the ground but with his back up against the tile. He tries to take a deep breath but it catches in his throat and he stifles back a grating cough.

_I'm sorry, Ryouken. After everything you've done, I'm still failing. You fell in love with me, a worthless student who can't pass a single exam in his school. And yet you've worked so hard to care for me and help me, and how can I ever repay that?_

Yuusaku opens up his duel disk and logs into his student account. He finds the grade app but doesn't press the button.

_If I fail, can I ever face you again? Maybe, if I fail, I should never see you ... never be with you. If I fail, it's b –_

B.

He passed.

Yuusaku presses a hand to his mouth to stifle back a sob that catches in his throat.

A passing grade for his university entrance exam, meaning that not only will he graduate high school but he'll continue on to university with _Ryouken_ and they'll be able to see each other and Yuusaku won't have to redo a year of school, and all of Ryouken's hard work was for something at last, and Yuusaku won't ever have to regret his existence and relationship and –

Yuusaku leaps from his spot against the wall and hurries out of the bathroom. He stops himself before he reaches the booth though and tries to slow the racing of his heart. He needs to stay calm, cool, and collected. He needs to act mature. He needs –

His face is fucking redder than a tomato.

Sitting in the same spot as before is Ryouken, playing a mobile game on his duel disk. He closes the app and glances up at Yuusaku. "So?"

Yuusaku twists his lips together. How does he say ...

"Have a seat, Yuusaku, and maybe take a breath.. You look like you just ran –"

"I passed."

Ryouken's eyes widen. The golden stars within them grow and sharpen, and his entire face lights up like the moon in the nighttime sky. Yuusaku drops down into his seat and pulls off his duel disk. He finds his entrance exam grade on the school website and points it out to Ryouken.

"This is a passing grade, right? I'm not seeing it wrong?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuusaku sees Ryouken dip his head down into his hands, but he keeps on prattling.

"It hasn't even sunk in yet that maybe – maybe I can actually go to university with you. Ryouken, I'm going to scho ..." Yuusaku's eyes widen. Ryouken has his head bowed and his hands over his eyes, and Yuusaku knows that body language far too well.

_Is he ... crying?_

"I told you it would be fine," Ryouken says, though his voice comes out garbled and muffled by his hands over his mouth. "All according to _keikaku,_ right? You were supposed to pass because I'm such a good tutor. So – so congrats."

A thick pit lodges in Yuusaku's throat. He swallows to try and clear it, and when he tries to say "thank you" back, the words stick uncomfortably in his throat. But Yuusaku knows there's a favour he has yet to return, something he's been wanting to try for a while, so, carefully, his pulls away Ryouken's hands. Ryouken isn't crying, but he looks to be on the verge of it. His eyes widen when Yuusaku takes his hands and brings them to his cheeks. Then, as gently as he can, Yuusaku leans forward and kisses Ryouken softly. It's nothing more than contact, and a bit of a movement as Yuusaku leads Ryouken through the motions, but the warm sunlight on their faces and the gentle tinker of coffee cups makes for the best environment.

"Just returning the favour," Yuusaku whispers against Ryouken's lips.

"Thank you," Ryouken says back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! thank you for reading, kudo-ing, and commenting on my work for the first Vrains Weeks on tumblr! it has been an absolute pleasure writing for everyone and spreading the cheer and love! i actually wanted to do a mini-project for Tsurezure Children for a whil now, and Vrains Weeks just gave me the perfect opportunity to put the ideas to use ^^;; 
> 
> i'd love to hear what your favourite fic or pairing was. honestly, i like the datastorm one about making out - Ryouken is one sly guy and i have thoroughly enjoyed writing his character. a close second though would have to be the first Aoi/Spectre (blueghost) chapter because i really fell hard for that pairing and i'm glad i shared the love with you guys <3
> 
> so again, thank you for everything and more! i really enjoy writing for vrains and i can't wait for another fanwork event! i have definitely fallen in love with this fandom and community! <33
> 
> cheers,  
> lily-liegh


	13. Aoi/Spectre III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! this was supposed to be a completed series and just short one-shots for Vrains Week, but i was craving Blueghost (Aoi/Spectre) and since i left their story hanging, i wanted to keep writing some more and thus re-opened this series. so yeah, let's give Aoi and Spectre a happy ending too, just like Yuusaku and Ryouken <3 that said, just like everyone else, there are trials and challenges in a relationship, so this chapter mixes up the peace. let's see where it goes ~ ♪
> 
> i have no set update schedule for this, but maybe 2-3 days between chapters :3

Spectre slides over to Aoi's desk. He cups his face in his hands, and drops his elbows down over her workspace. She's already glaring at him by the time he looks into her eyes, but there's a mischievous quirk of her lips that tells him that she's not bothered in the slightest, and that chances are she'll tip him over before he drops down all over her homework. Besides, he hasn't come over just to pester her. He has an idea, and one that she surely won't turn down.

"Hey," he says, leaning closer, the desk creaking underneath him, "want to come over to my place tonight?"

"Why?" Aoi says. She looks nonplussed, and Spectre feels his heart hammer in his chest. He expected her to say something wittier that would give him a segway into his plans. But Aoi just blinks at him, neither excited nor pissed nor  _ nothing. _

"Um—study," he says.

"You study?"

"Do you?"

Her smile widens. "Touché," she says, and then pushes his elbows back so she can gather up her books and papers. She files the notes away in several clear covers decorated with stickers of blue- and pink-dressed magical girls. Spectre can't remember their names or attack chants, but he knows it's from her favourite magical girl series, the one that she stays up until otaku o'clock just to catch the newest episode. Aoi tucks the clear covers and books into her knapsack, and then slowly stretches up from her desk and dons her backpack. Only then does she smile sweetly at him.

"Sure," she says at last. "Let's study tonight. Maybe you'll pass the quiz."

Spectre lets out the breath he'd been holding in, and rises from his seat as smoothly as he can. This is all going according to plan. "Says the girl who got 56 on her last quiz."

"Says the boy who got 42."

"Touché."

He grabs his backpack hanging on his desk chair, and together the two of them head out of the classroom. The hallways are packed as hundreds of students mill out of the classroom doors. Most of them must be heading to some club or another; Aoi is part of the dueling club, but lately she's been skipping meetings to hang out with him more. In turn, Spectre's even skipped some of his days at the gardening club; he gets enough time with plants as it is.

Once they make it out of the main hallway and down the stairs, the school becomes less crowded as students spread out to their respective club rooms, or head out the main oak doors and out into the courtyard. It's such a bright, sunny day that Aoi's hair looks blonder in the sun, and she runs her fingers through it from time to time. Spectre feels his face heat up, and not just from the hot sun.

"So where is your house?" Aoi asks as they exit the school gates.

Spectre turns to the left, and guides Aoi down one of the major roads towards the suburbs. Soon after, they sharply turn into a park full of large Japanese maples. The rustic red leaves crinkle under their feet, swept away even by a single step. They bluster along the small stone path weaving between the thick trunks. Over their heads is a bountiful harvest of red and orange leaves through which slivers of blue sky peek.

"Spectre?"

"Oh, yeah," Spectre says. "It's this way." He smiles. "My parents aren't home today."

"Why does that matter?"

He snaps his head down. A cold sweat breaks out across his neck, and suddenly the leaves over his head aren't quite so mesmerising, but instead trap him under a thick blanket. He forces the best smile onto his face that he can and says, "It means no one's going to come bother us while we're studying."

"That wouldn't matter," Aoi says, rolling her shoulders back. "Sometimes I have to help my brother with dishes or laundry. Why would it be any different for you and your family?"

Sweat slides down his fingers. "Be—because I don't want to help my family."

Tilting her head to the side, Aoi rolls her eyes at him. "At least you're honest."

Only when she looks back at the foliage does Spectre let himself relax, if only for a moment. Who thought that bringing your girlfriend to your house could be so stressful? Did Ryouken feel like this when he brought Yuusaku to his house? Or when Yuusaku brought Ryouken to the hotdog truck? Is this what  _ every  _ couple feels like when they see one another? Unlike the romantic butterflies one typically feels in their stomach, Spectre feels a jackhammer nailing holes in his gut.

Normally, he'd enjoy the pain.

Not today.

At the end of the trail stretches a single road lined with apartment complexes. Most of the balconies have small plants, and in the entryway to the apartment are rows of potted plants. Spectre brushes his fingers over them as he passes by. He leads Aoi into the lobby of his apartment, where the interior is creamy fabrics matched with bright indoor plants. There's no elevator for an apartment with only four floors, and so they march up three flights of stairs and down a carpeted hallway to Spectre's door.

"Nice place," Aoi comments.

Spectre chuckles. "Don't patronise me. Don't you live in some fancy penthouse?"

"Yeah, but it's so sterile I feel like I'm living in a ward."

Spectre's house is  _ anything  _ but sterile. There are plants everywhere: on tables and shelves, hanging from the ceiling; some have made their homes close to the window and out on the balcony, but plants that need little to no sunlight are tucked back in cabinets too. If it were just plants in the house, it might have looked cluttered in a charming way. But then there are blankets spilling off the sides of the furniture and stacked tea mugs and plates on any available flat surface. His apartment is so small that from the doorway he can see the dirty dishes on the stove and by the sink, and fortunately the ones inside the oven are hidden from view.

"Nice," Aoi says. Her words are sharp and poignant, and she smiles at him like she's just seen a flea land on a piece of shit.

Wonderful.

"Looks like you cleaned up before I came."

"It's clean enough," Spectre says. He marches forward, kicking his shoes off as he walks. He pushes some of the dishes to the furthest end of the coffee table, and shoves the blankets over the side of the couch to make room for Aoi.

She hasn't moved from the entryway. "Aren't we going to study at a desk? Or a table?"

"Crouch down here," Spectre says. "And I told you, my parents aren't home. It doesn't matter where we study. Or what, do you want to be in my bedroom?"

"If that's where your desk is, then yeah," Aoi says.

"Don't have one."

"Then here's good."

They spread out their belongings on the table. Aoi pulls out her notebooks and pencils. Now that Spectre can see them more closely, while they are decorated, they're not ... organised. She only has one notebook that she's written everything in, and as she flips through the pages, he spots that she hasn't even labelled specific pages for classes—she's just written on whatever page was available!

"What?" Aoi says, peering over her notebook.

"Just your notes," Spectre says, and pulls out his own books. He's not the most organised student either, but he has on labelled book for all his notes, and several workbooks that he's slowly been completing. He has nothing prepared for the test, but thankfully it looks like Aoi has nothing either. Good. They'll be on the same page.

But then again, it doesn't really matter if they study or not. That's not the reason. They're together now, and in private. The conditions have been met: he's going to kiss Aoi.

"Can I have some water?"

Spectre blinks. "Uh, sure ... or do you want juice? Or pop?"

"Juice if you're offering," Aoi says.

He nods and heads to the kitchen. His hands slip on the fridge handles, and when he pulls out the container of apple juice and pours two glasses, he spills a bit on the counter. Quickly, he wipes off the cup with the sleeve of his shirt, and carries them both over to Aoi. He hopes she doesn't see the ripples in the juice. Fortunately, if she does, she misses the larger mistake: as he reaches out to her, their fingers touch, and Spectre twists his hand to the side. Juice tumbles out of the side of the cup—not all of it, but enough that it soaks both of their hands.

"Sorry," Aoi says quickly, and she takes the cup from him. 

"It's fine," Spectre says. "Just leave it. It's just juice, so it won't stain."

Aoi nods in agreement. She brings her hand up to her mouth, and quietly slurps the juice off it. Spectre sees; he pretends he doesn't, but he does, and his cheeks burn scarlet. He shoves his face into her drink and takes a deep sip until he's certain the blush has faded. Then he scoots over to the other side of the table and sets out the rest of the workbooks.

"You ever studied before?" Aoi asks.

Spectre snorts. "A bit.”

"If we divide up the workload, it'll be easier for the both of us. How about you take the first two chapters, and I'll take the other two. We'll each take notes, and then share with each other what we've found. Make sense?"

"Yeah."

But even if it makes sense, Spectre can hardly concentrate. Aoi hums under her breath when she studies. She twirls lockets of brown hair around her fingers, and brushes her bangs out of her eyes. Sometimes she bumps her knees on the table, and her only apology is a short 'hm.' She must do this in class too, but Spectre's never paid attention to her study habits until now when he's less than five feet away from her. But now everything she does distracts him. He takes sips of juice to calm himself down, but everytime he looks up from the table, he sees her with her teeth in her lip, or her hand on her cheek, and his heart jolts to life.

Stretching his arms over his head, he says, "Let's take a break."

Aoi doesn't raise her head. "What?"

"I'm going to get some snacks and more juice."

"It hasn't even been fifteen minutes."

"Oh well."

She doesn't call him back, and so he slips away to the kitchen once more. In the pantry, he finds a couple boxes of spelt crackers and dried apricots that he puts into little dishes. In the fridge, he sees the carton of apple juice and he reaches for it. However, there's something else in the fridge that catches his attention: beer. His father must have bought some on his last shopping trip. It's not even the organic beer either—it's Asahi Light, the most basic brand there is.

Spectre peeks over the top of the fridge door and back into the living room.

He grabs the can, pops the lid, and guzzles. Beer tastes  _ horrible.  _ It's neither sweet nor sour, but some terrible dry and starchy flavour that he can't even put a name too. It burns as it slides down it throat, and Spectre coughs as he continues to chug. He knows that it takes a while for alcohol to relax you, so if he drinks faster, then naturally he'll feel calmer quicker. He drinks until the last drop is gone, and then shoves the empty can in the bottom of the recycle bin before his parents see anything.

When he looks back up, his stomach hurts.

_ That's  _ not what he wanted.

Grumbling, Spectre kicks the fridge door closed and returns with the snacks. Aoi mumbles a thank you as she finishes writing a sentence, and then peers over her work and into the bowls. She sticks her tongue out.

"You don't have, like, candy?"

"Apricots are sweet," he says.

"True," she says. She plucks one between her fingers and pops it into her mouth. Instead of pulling a disgusted face, she smiles as she chews, bouncing her head from side to side. Spectre watches her head tilt back and forth, and shakes himself awake once he realises she's talking to him.

"So how far have you gotten?"

"Far eno ..." He stifles a belch into his fist, and his cheeks burn pink. The alcohol keeps sloshing in his stomach, and if he just moves a single finger he feels like the world is beginning to tilt. This isn't the side effect he's heard about in books! But the more he stares at Aoi, the calmer he does feel, so maybe the effect just takes some time. If he stares at her with all his might, the world doesn't spin. It feels perfect.

Until Aoi gently slaps his cheek. She leans over the table to reach him, and Spectre tilts back before she bonks heads with him. She stops before she falls, but she's still close enough to touch him, and Spectre feels the alcohol in his head now, fuzzy and warm.

He smiles up at her.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she asks.

"Hey, Aoi ..." He licks his lips. "Want to kiss?"

Aoi freezes. Swallows. Then, licking her own lips, she squints at him. "What's that smell?"

“Love.”

“Are you … drunk?”

If that's what this blissful feeling is, then sure. But Spectre doesn't need to tell her that. He pushes himself up off the ground and meets her crouched over the table. She backs up to give him space, but Spectre follows her, stretching over the table, climbing atop it to get closer to her. He reaches a hand out to touch her cheek, but Aoi slaps it away.

"What are you—"

"I want to kiss you," he says, and leans in once more.

"But—wait! I don't want to do it like this."

_ Like what? _ he wonders. He settles back on the table, still sitting atop their forgotten homework. Spectre holds his hand up against it heart and rubs it with his other thumb. "But aren't you always telling me to be more assertive and aggressive?"

"Yeah," Aoi says, "and to turn down your creepy narcissism. Now get off my homework. I'm going to call your parents and make them come home."

She stands up, but Spectre lunges out and pushes her down. He can't let her call his parents! That would ruin everything he's had planned, and there's no way he'll be able to kiss her if they come home. And if they saw he'd drunk a can of beer, he'd be grounded for  _ weeks!  _

Aoi shakes him off like a leaf. 

"Our first kiss together isn't going to be when you're drunk as shit," she says. "I'm not going to call your parents on you to get you in trouble, but ... but geez, Spectre, way to ruin a night."

Spectre snorts. "It's not ruined," he says as the world sways around him. Besides the sloshing and lightheadedness, he feels fine. Better even. But he wishes Aoi would sit back down or come closer to him. The more time passes, the dizzier he feels.

"Look." A hand settles on his shoulder. Aoi comes and sits next to him, and kneads her hand lightly into his skin. Even through the fog, Spectre can see the blush on her cheek. She keeps her face close to his, kneeling behind him. Even if everything else feels fuzzy, her hand on his shoulder feels like she's rubbing his heart. "I want to kiss you too—sometime, someday, and maybe even today, but not when you're piss-drunk. I don't want that special moment to be ruined by your bad breath and poor coordination. I don't. So fine, I won't tell you parents, but let's just go ..."

"Aoi." Spectre tilts his head up towards her. She doesn't look too afraid, or even pissed. Her lips are curled down a bit, and she looks like she's trying to breathe through her mouth instead of her nose. Either way, she doesn't look horrified by this situation, and neither is Spectre. "Me too," he says, and he pushes himself up and kisses her roughly on the lips. All too quickly, his arms give out under his weight and he tumbles down to the ground, but not before he grabs the back of her head and pulls her down with him. They land in a pile together, with Spectre's lips now sucking enthusiastically on her jawline.

Then Aoi shoves him off with all her force, and Spectre rolls through the room. His stomach churns and churns, and when he hits the wall, he doesn't feel it—no, he's too busy cradling his stomach as he vomits up what looks to be all the booze he drank. As coordinated as he can be, he pushes himself away from the sick and back up against the wall. It's then he sees Aoi, across the room. Normally a cool, sometimes icy, person, she now looks as hot as molten lava. Her face is pink, and there's a particularly red spot on her lower jaw.

Spectre blinks at her as his vision swims. He tastes bile on his tongue, and he gives a weak cough.

"How could you?" Aoi says. The words sound more like a gasp. She brings a hand to her cheek, and her fingertips collect the teardrops that run down her face. "H-how—"

"Heh," Spectre says. "That could have gone better. Sorry."

Aoi doesn't reply at first. In his blurry eyes, he sees her crouch down to the table and begin to put things away: her books, then her pencils. She looks like she's shaking, but he wonders if that's another effect of the alcohol. The world had been spinning for a while; even now, Spectre's not quite sure he's seen what he's supposed to see. But through all the haziness, he hears Aoi loud and clear when she next speaks.

"I'm going home."

"Wha ... what?"

"I'm going home."

"Why?" Aoi doesn't answer. "Is it because we fooled around? Because you're mad I got sick? Because—"

She spins on her heel and rushes to the door. She doesn't even put her shoes on, but by the time she makes it to the doorway, Spectre has gathered himself to his feet and met her there. He sways on the spot, and tries to reach out and touch her. What does she want? An apology? She's the one who wanted to kiss too. But his tongue feels heavy, and he worries that if opens his mouth again, he'll just get sick once more.

Aoi speaks for him. "Don't touch me," she hisses, swatting his hand away. "And  _ don't speak to me ever again." _

She slams the door in his face before he can even think of what he wants to tell her. The apartment sounds so much quieter now, and it feels  _ wrong  _ as he stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the wall to steady himself. The alcohol feels even worse inside him, but there's no amount of vomiting that can fix that.

With his heart hanging at his toes, he trudges back to his bedroom. There's no point in cleaning anything up. Everyone will find out either way.


	14. Aoi/Spectre IV

She can't even move. Or think. Or breathe. And if she can, it hurts. Everything hurts. From the greasy hair on her head to the sweat between her toes, every part of her feels wrong. Aoi feels paralysed on her bed, cocooned in four different blankets that still can't keep the chill out. From time to time, she feels the cold rattle her skin and seep into her bones, but she's too tired to get another blanket, and she's pretty sure it's not the cold she wants to chase away. If anything, the cold is clearing away the traces of Spectre's hands on her.

He ...

He kissed her. On the lips, and then on the jaw. He was piss-ass drunk and out of his mind, and he kissed her even when she tried to calm him down, even when she said she wouldn't call his parents. And she still didn't call his parents. She ran home with the last of her energy and collapsed on the bed where she hasn't left since.

She should get up. She should take a shower. She should go into the kitchen and find something to eat. But that all sounds like too much effort, and if she puts even a toe out of the blanket cocoon the cold will sweep her away and she'll turn to dust. It doesn't even make sense.

Through a slip in the doorway, she can see light and hear the clink of kitchenware. Her brother must be in the kitchen cooking dinner ... or breakfast. Breakfast. It's morning time now. She smells food, and it makes her stomach roil. It doesn't smell like the booze on Spectre's breath, but even the thought of putting anything in her stomach makes her queasy. But Akira doesn't come into the bedroom even when the clinking stops and she hears him pad across the floor.

By her head, her phone buzzes. It's been going off since the night it happened. First Spectre sent her drunk apology messages. Then the next day he sent her sober apology messages. Aoi doesn't want to read any of them. They're half-hearted at best, and the last thing she wants to do is text him, or worse call him. She doesn't even have the energy to be around him.

Her tongue runs across her teeth and lips, and she pulls a face. What she tastes isn't spit or booze, but the acrid flavour of unbrushed teeth. But it tastes just as horrible as when Spectre kissed her, and she gags on the bed and pushes her hand up to her mouth. Even when he's gone, she can still taste the kiss, feel his hands on her, or his lips against her jaw. He was so drunk. So, so drunk.

Weakly, Aoi thumbs her phone closer to her. The screen alights with a new message ... a new e-mail from a dueling shop that she subscribes to. Not a message from Spectre. Come to think of it, she hasn't seen any new LINE messages from him since yesterday afternoon when he was asking if he should bring her home any homework. He never did stop by. But now it's the next day and already 10 am, and two days since that terrible night. 

_ Did he give up?  _ she wonders. Somehow, that's even worse than not receiving any messages. LINE even shows when the person was last online, and if they've seen the message. Aoi has made sure not to click on the chat to show that she's read what he wrote, but she's seen enough of the message to know what he's last said. But she knows he's online, and that he has his phone with him. He always does; he's always messaging Ryouken. But the last time he tried to talk to her was yesterday.

_ Is he ignoring me too?  _ Aoi hopes not. He's supposed to apologise. Sure, his intentions were well-meaning, but ...

She buries her face into her pillow.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the online symbol. He's on LINE. He can message her.

_ Just maybe ... _

Nothing.

She huffs under her breath, and rolls herself towards the edge of the bed. The stickiness on her skin has become unbearable, and as lethargic as she feels, she can no longer lay around like this. Maybe the water will do her some good. Her friends have told her before that hot baths are relaxing.

Carefully, she peels herself out of the covers and tiptoes out of her room and to the bathroom. She hears her brother round the corner, but she closes the bathroom door before he can approach her. She sets her phone on the toilet seat, and runs the water for the bath. Beneath the sink are bubbles, and she pours some soap in for good measure too. All the while, she keeps one eye on her phone.

_ He's going to text me. _

When the tub is full, she strips down and steps inside. She flinches at first, but slowly eases herself down into the bubbly solution. The water works fast. Her legs relax along the bottom of the tub, and she leans back into the water and submerges her shoulders. The bubble solution smells like lavender, and she remembers that smell from the school gardens. One time, Spectre took her there to see all the plants he was tending. She'd acted standoffish at the time, but truly she'd liked the bright flowers. Her and her brother live in such a sterile, concrete building; it's refreshing to see places with colour.

At the thought of Spectre, she glances at her phone once more. She plucks it off the toilet seat and flicks through LINE. He's still online. What? Is he just ranting to Ryouken or something? Has he given up and expected her to message? She doesn't have the strength for that. But ...

_ If you message one more time, maybe ... maybe I'll forgive you. Maybe I'll listen. _

She clenches the phone in her hand.

_ One more time ... _

Bing!

Her eyes light up, her heart soars, she takes in a deep breath, and her hand unclenches the phone. With a soft  _ plop!,  _ it drops into the water and lands on her submerged knees.

"SHIT!"

Aoi snatches the phone out from the water. She throws herself over the edge of the bath and snatches up her towel. She scrubs as hard as she can at the black screen—wait, black screen? Shit, shit, shit, that means it's already dead! She presses the power button, but the screen doesn't light up. Quickly, she scrubs the phone again. She snaps her case off and jams the towel into all the little crevices in the phone. Shouldn't they make phones waterproof for this?

She flips the phone over and tries again. Still nothing.

_ Shiiiiiiiiit,  _ Aoi thinks.  _ There—there was a new message. _

She tries to remember if she even saw the first word of it, but she dropped the phone as soon as the heard the chime, not when she'd opened the app. It might not have even been Spectre either, who knows, but Aoi  _ knows  _ it had to be him, fate has to be that cruel and merciless to her. She tries to turn it on once more, but nothing happens.

_ Knock, knock.  _ "Aoi, everything all right?" her brother asks through the door.

"Fine," Aoi says. "Just ... fine."

She turns around and smacks the phone on the edge of the sink; she doesn't have time to let it sit overnight in rice. Any other piece of technology she's used works with a good hit or two, or blowing into the jack ... or is that just with old video game devices? She tries that too, but still to no avail.

_ He's going to hate me,  _ she thinks.  _ He's going to hate me and never reply to me again because I haven't read  _ any  _ of those messages but I really wanted to read that one, and now I can't, and — _

_ Bing! _

Aoi yanks her phone back. It's ... on. It's on and she can see her screen and the messages, and she doesn't even have time to read it now. It's too late. Aoi pulls up the phone call app instead. She'll call Spectre and apologise right now, or at least say what's on her mind and see if he gives a proper apology. Anything. But she has to say something.

"Hello?"

He answered the phone.

"He—"

_ Crackle. _

Then nothing.

Slowly, Aoi pulls her phone back. Once again, the screen is pitch black, only this time she can see her wet face in the reflection, and she lets the phone drop from her limp fingers. That's it. Her phone is dead, and she has no other way of reaching Spectre. He probably won't answer her messages anyways. Why would he apologise to someone who ignores his messages for nearly two days? Who would apologise to someone who hangs up on them?

She slumps back against the back and kicks her phone across the room. The tile floor sucks the heat from her body, but the cold feels better than the heat, and a warm bath no longer sounds nice and inviting. Lying in the bed sounds much better. There, she'll be able to sleep the day away. There, she won't have to worry about anything.

_ He's never going to talk to me again. _

* * *

The next day, she doesn't go to school. She plans to go to the hardware store to fix her phone, but lying in her bed seems to drain any energy and motivation out of her. About an hour ago, or what seemed like an hour ago, she heard her brother bustling around in the kitchen, but now he's left for work and the house is quiet. It unnerves her. She wishes someone would stomp their feet on the floor or chatter in the other room just so that she doesn't feel like she's alone.

Above her head lies a bowl full of rice, and submerged in it is her phone. It still hasn't turned on no matter what she's tried. Perhaps she put it in rice too late. Perhaps it's too late to even bring it to the repair shop. The last thing Aoi wants is to have to get a new phone—that's change, and change is difficult, and she doesn't want any more change, she just wants everything to go back to normal and fit together like it used to.

But it can't.

Her thoughts drape over her mind like a thick, choking blanket. She's too tired to be awake, yet too awake to fall asleep. She's stuck in an uneasy limbo, lying on her side with the blankets pooled around her ankles. At least she's clean from last night. At least she did something.

_ Knock, knock. _

Aoi stretches her head up.

_ Knock. _

_ Slam! _

"Aoi.”

Her heart leaps into her throat. Spectre, he—he came! She shoots up from the bed, and in her hurry dumps the rice all over her sheets. She doesn't bother to look at it. Her legs feel like jelly beneath her, and her head spins as she rises and takes a weak step forward. Then another. And another. She crosses the room and stops with her hand on the door handle, and ... pauses. Holds her breath. Two seconds ago she felt like she could walk across water, but in the time it took her to leave her room and walk to the door, the choking feeling has returned with vengeance.

_ Can I forgive him now? _

_ Do I forgive him now? _

_ Will he forgive me? _

"Aoi?"

She tightens her grip round the handle and pulls the door open. It catches on the chain latch, and only opens far enough to see a sliver of Spectre standing a couple paces from the door, hands at his side. His head hangs, and he doesn't raise it when she opens the door. At a first glance, Spectre looks ... dimmer. It's a weird thing to say about him, but he always had such an ethereal, otherworldly look to him. Now he looks like the world chewed him into bits and spat him out.

She reaches up and unclicks the chain, and opens the door all the way. Spectre still doesn't raise his head.

Aoi swallows. "We—"

"I'm sorry."

And blinks.

"I'm sorry I was drunk. And ... that I kissed you. You, uh ..." He rubs his head awkwardly. "Weren't answering your messages, so I thought I should ..." He gestures vaguely to the ground, and Aoi tilts her head. Where exactly was he going with that train of thought? But the movement lifts his head a bit, and the expression she sees on his face puts a stone in her heart. He looks ... docile. Upset. He's never looked like that before, not even when he got a bad grade, or when they've had a petty argument.

"I saw your messages."

Spectre peers at her through his bangs. He looks haunted. Aoi wonders if she's wearing the same tired eyes and droopy lips too.

"You didn't answer them."

"I ... could see that you sent them, so I saw them. And ..." She crunches her hands together. "When I tried to read them, I dropped my phone in the tub. That's why I didn't answer you yesterday, or why I called you and—"

"Oh. That makes sense."

"It ... does?"

He nods his head and pulls out his own cell phone. "I answered your call, but then all I heard was a crackling sound. Must've been the water, right?"

"Right." She reaches a hand up to her face; her cheeks are burning now, and the once-sick feeling in her belly has transformed to the butterflies she got that night when he brought her home. It's a strange but good feeling, and she hopes it bring a bit of colour to her face. She can't look as pale as Spectre. "Right," she says again. "I'm ... sorry about not reading your messages beforehand."

"It's fine," Spectre says. "I wouldn't have read them if I was you."

She opens her mouth to say "right" once more, but the words catch on her dry lips. There's nothing else she can say to him ... right? Nothing that can change this? But as Aoi watches Spectre dip his head once more, closing in on himself, she feels something shift within her—energy maybe. It forces her to step out the doorway and closer to him. She doesn't touch him, but closes the space so they don't feel like two strangers talking across a road.

"Don't do that again.”

Spectre nods his head.

"I was going to ... y'know, I said ..." She swallows the pit in her throat and tries again. "I was going to kiss you, you idiot, until you screwed it up. And if you kissed me without reeking of booze, I probably wouldn't have freaked out either.”

He doesn't step closer. But she sees him smile, the shit-eating one he normally wears that makes the butterflies in her stomach go mad with love. The glow around his cheeks returns too. Stretching past him, the hallway no longer looks like it could swallow him up. The darkness doesn't hang round her doorway. And Aoi can meet his eyes properly now, and smile with him too.

"Got it," Spectre says. "And by the way, beer tastes terrible."

"I bet." She leans back against the doorway, and twirls her hair around her finger. When Spectre doesn't move an inch, Aoi says, "I need to go ..." She glances down at her feet. She's still in pyjamas with clouds on them. She hasn't eaten in who knows how long, and the more she stands around, the more she becomes aware of how hungry and thirsty she is.

"Yeah, sure."

Spectre turns to leave, shoving his hands into his pants pockets and slouching his shoulders.

"But hey. See you at school tomorrow."


	15. Aoi/Spectre V

"God, my friends are so gross. Like congratulations on the sex, stop flaunting your relationship on Instagram for everyone to see."

"Why are you even on your phone? Aren't we supposed to be 'out in nature' today?"

They still are. They're hiking up Mount Vrains, one of the tallest mountains in Den City. From her house, Aoi has been able to see the peak of the mountain stretching up towards the clouds. She's heard stories about the beautiful sights up above, but her and Spectre don't plan on ascending the entire mountain; instead, they're taking the day to hike up to one of the smaller outcrops that he claims has the best place to have a picnic.

 _A date,_ Aoi thinks. _We're on a date._

"Get a room," Spectre mutters to his phone.

"What even are you ..." Aoi twists the phone so she can see too, and the words die on her tongue. She can't blame him; she'd be saying the same thing too if she saw the picture first. She understands wanting to be happy and share your relationship on social media, but some of her friends ... do they know that relationships are private and intimate? And that not every photo needs to feature them making out or rubbing noses or feeling each other up? But as Spectre continues to scroll through his Insta feed, it's all Aoi sees: couples in love.

“Hm."

"Gross," Spectre says. He turns his phone off and pockets it, and then turns to see how far they've come. Aoi glances behind her too. They've been hiking for at least an hour now, and behind them stretches a narrow, dirt path that eventually fades into the thick forest below. Now that they've ascended a fair bit of the mountain, the trees have become thinner and spread out along the ground. She can see the blue sky overhead, and the tip of the mountain further in the distance.

Spectre starts walking again, and Aoi follows. Her hiking shoes crunch on the dry ground. Her backpack, though light, feels heavier than at the start, and sweat has begun to stick to the back of her shirt. Spectre fares no better: his face is as pink as a peach, and he's slicked his bangs back with the sweat forming on his brow.

As they walk, Aoi pulls out her own phone. Her personal account is bland; it's her dueling profile as Blue Angel that's much more popular. But even on her Twitter and Instagram feeds all she sees are pictures of her friends making out with their partners.

"Oh wow, your feed's full of nudity too."

"They're wearing _bikinis,"_ Aoi says. "And those are my friends." But a part of her does wonder why her friends chose this photo of them groping each other to post to their Instagram. Don't they have better photos of them at the beach? She doesn't want to judge, but ...

"Don't you think that's so embarrassing?" Spectre says, scrunching his nose up so that there are little ridges along the pink skin.

"I guess ..." Aoi says. "But they can do what they want with their relationship, right? It's not my job to say what's right and what isn't."

"Whatever," Spectre says with a roll of his eyes. Then his gaze slips down past Aoi's face, and she shoves a hand across her chest. "I didn't even say—"

"You were looking," she says. "And just because I said it's cool for my friends to grope each other in public doesn't mean I want you feeling me up on the trail." She glances around to see if anyone's passed by; fortunately, they haven't seen a single soul since they began their ascent, and so even if Spectre did try to touch her, and Aoi let him, no one would pass by. But Spectre doesn't reach out to touch her, and he shoves both his hands in his pockets and grins at her like a Cheshire Cat.

"I'm not," Spectre says. "That's not us, right?"

The words bring a smile to her lips. They've been saying this to one another since they got back together after the fight. Relationships are unique. Relationships are special. And just because her and Spectre don't present as the typical lovey-dovey couple doesn't mean that their love is any less. It was even Spectre who said the words first, and whenever she hears the phrase, a symphony blossoms in her soul.

Ahead of them, Aoi spots the side-trail leading around the mountain and to the grassy grove. She hurries forward, Spectre hot on her heels. They pass by rows of wildflowers with bright petals and vibrant, green stems. Over here, the grass seems fresher and the air cleaner. As they round the bend, the grove comes into view. A bed of grass stretches out to the cliffside, and a single tree stands in the open space. It provides just enough shade to sit under. Ahead of them is the bursting silver and grey city. From this distance, the buildings look like Lego blocks stacked atop each other, and the roads look like ant trails. She can't even see the people on the streets, and it's impossible to tell what's a car or bus or truck. Everything is so small.

Spectre pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, and then another. He turns around and begins photographing every inch of the grove, applying every filter he owns to make the greens and blues turn to sepia, then black and white, and then watercolour pastels that rub the world together like a children's painting. Aoi stands to the side and watches his work. When he turns the camera lens to her, she laughs in surprise.

"What are you doing?"

"Photographing something beautiful."

"You got it on selfie mode?"

"You bet."

She laughs again and turns the phone so she can see. Then: "You vain pretty-boy."

"Caught me," Spectre says.

Aoi keeps on laughing. In the camera lens, she sees the reds and pinks of her cheeks, and blue dusting of eye shadow she applied to her eyes. She wonders if Spectre even noticed she wore makeup today. She knows he's wearing some sort of cologne; she could smell it when he picked her up at her house. But now that she's close to him and in the lens of the camera, she sees the background before her painted like a beautiful landscape: the little grey buildings and roads, interspersed with parks and lakes and brown-roofed houses. From this angle, there are even rectangular farming plots that look like tiles from Minecraft.

As Spectre pulls the camera away, Aoi grabs his hand and holds it steady. "Hey, wait ..."

"What?"

"Let's take a photo. Y'know, to remember the moment. Let's do it ..." Aoi bites her lip. "While kissing."

Spectre blinks.

Aoi feels the butterflies turn into wasps in her belly, and she looks down at her feet. That was probably a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? It was. Spectre was just complaining about all his friends and their gross PDAs, so why would he want to kiss for the camera?

"Say something," she mutters.

"I don't know anything funny to say."

Snapping her head up, Aoi growls, "Why do you need something funny to say? It's a yes or no question." She huffs out a breath, and glares at Spectre through the phone screen; she's still holding it up, though now the picture is wobbling because he's badly suppressing his laughter. "But if you think it's weird, go ahead and say it and we don't have to."

"No," Spectre says, drawing in a proper breath too. "No ... it's fine."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I am," Spectre says. "But remember the last time we kissed and you got upset? What if that happens again?"

Aoi grabs his arm and pulls the camera down. Not only does it stop his rambling, it gets him to look at her. He looks nervous in a Spectre way: trying to laugh and smirk and brush it off. Aoi knows the signs well. "That's not going to happen, dummy. You were _drunk_ and forced yourself on top of me. In what way is that situation going to happen again? For one, you're sober. For another, you haven't groped me so I'm pretty sure you won't try that." Softening her voice, Aoi adds, "Wouldn't that make our first proper kiss special if we got a photo of it? We wouldn't even need to blast it through social media or anything. It would just be a photo for the two of us."

He purses his lips together as if he's swallowed an entire lemon. And then he grins up at her with his trademark shit-eating grin, and Aoi feels herself relax into him.

"Sure. Why the heck not?"

She lets his arm go and Spectre lifts the camera up so that it can capture both of them and the beautiful city view. Aoi inches closer so that her and Spectre both fit, and her entire body burns when she rests her chest against his. No doubt Spectre can feel her boob-sweat and her arm-sweat and all the sweat everywhere else on her body. She should have worn perfume like him; he at least smells like whatever cologne he dumped all over himself.

"Hey, is anyone watching us?" Aoi asks.

"Could they even see us from up here?"

"True," she says. Then she frowns as Spectre's thumb covers the screen. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Picking a filter."

"Why do we need a filter?"

"It'll make the photo look better."

Aoi huffs and tilts her head up towards him. "We don't need to 'look better': the picture already looks good enough." At least, it looks fine to her. She's fiddled with Photoshop and other editing software for her idol photoshoots, but in personal photos she's never even touched up her skin. Who cares what she looks like? Does it really matter if her freckles are visible, or if their cheeks and red and shiny?

Spectre still ends up picking a filter that highlights the green and grey behind them. Then he draws his face closer to hers, and Aoi sucks in a breath. Nothing about this moment feels like the last time they kissed, if she can even call it that, and yet ... Can she really kiss him?

"How are you taking the photo?" she asks, blowing breath onto his lips.

"A timer. We've got three seconds after I say 'ready' to kiss before the flash goes off."

"All right." She squares her shoulders and leans in closer, nose inches away from Spectre's cheek. "I'm ready."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Spectre press a button, and she hears him say 'ready.' And then her mind goes blank. She closes her eyes and draws herself forward. She wonders what she looks like in this moment, and if the camera will be able to capture what she hopes is a blissful expression. But then she hears suppressed laughter and her eyes flicker open.

"What kind of face is _that?"_ she says.

Spectre snaps his eyes open too. "What?"

"That! You're puffing out your cheeks like a blowfish!"

"Am not."

"Kiss me normally, dork, or else the photo's going to suck."

"Fine, fine," Spectre says. "I'll keep my eyes open this time too."

"How about ..." Aoi rubs her hands together, and leans closer to him. "You kiss me? That way only one of us has to worry about poses and timing and all that? I don't mind if you kiss me either way."

Aoi closes her eyes as she hears him hum under his breath. She feels him draw his face closer, his breath ghosting along her hot face. Now that he's even closer, she can feel the sweat on his body too, and it's slowly overpowering the scent of his cologne. His arm around her is shaking too, and his heart rate is choppy and hammers against her own racing heartbeat. Are their hearts having a race or something? But Aoi tries to focus on keeping a peaceful expression. She only drops it when it feels like a full minute has gone by.

"Spectre," she whispers to him. "What are you doing? Take the photo."

"I am."

"Are you playing with filters again?"

"Trying to get the right angle."

She cracks an eye open. He's telling the truth: he twists the phone from side to side, trying to capture the two of them together and the best view of the cityscape below. The picture looks fine no matter how he angles the phone, but when she squints, she sees what he's trying to do: he wants an even border around them, and for the phone to focus on them instead of the background.

"If it's not working," she says, "we can just take a normal photo and then kiss afterwards."

"No,'' Spectre says, tongue between his teeth. "I want this photo too."

Aoi chuckles under her breath, and pushes her hot cheek into his sweaty shirt. She feels his heart scramble round his chest, and it makes her giggle. Even he's getting flustered about this—Spectre, who's normally so cool and aloof and on top of things.

"Don't laugh," he says. "You want to kiss me too, and you said it first."

"I know," she says.

Spectre fiddles with the camera once more, and then finally lets out a long breath. His free arm squeezes her closer, and Aoi shuffles into him. This is it. It's time to kiss again. She sees herself in the phone screen, so closer to Spectre that she could probably kiss him from here. It's easy: just lean forward and press your lips to his. She's seen it plenty of times, and so has Spectre.

"Ready?"

Through her long, brown bangs, Aoi sees Spectre's pink face and pursed lips. It's not the best expression on him, but she'll give him sympathy points for trying. Her expression can't be any better.

"Ready."

Spectre starts the countdown.

She draws her face closer to his at the same time as he moves towards her, but when her lips touch his, something very different from what happens in movies and books happens: she laughs. She can't even help it: she laughs and falls into him, and her lips land on his cheek instead. With his chest so close to hers, she feels a laugh bubble up inside him too, and Spectre ducks his chin down towards her jaw as he joins her merry chortles. She doesn't even hear the camera snap the photo.

Pulling back, Aoi swallows back a giggle and wriggles the phone out of Spectre's sticky, sweaty hand. She flicks through the recent images. She shouldn't expect any different. It's exactly what the photo should be: her and him in each other's embrace, lips together, but laughing heartily in each other's faces. The background is a bit blurry, and in all the kerfuffle Spectre must have tilted the camera because it's not even on all sides.

But if she's honest with herself, it's the most beautiful photo she's even seen.

"Did—did we even kiss?" Spectre says.

"Of course we did," Aoi says. "Didn’t you feel it?"

"That was it?"

She snorts back a laugh. "Were you expecting something greater?"

"Yeah."

Shaking her head, Aoi tugs him closer. "At least you're honest." She holds the phone up for him to see. "Hey, should we post this on Instagram?"

"No way," Spectre says. "Only mushy couples do shit like that.”

"Fine. But you know what that means ..." She lifts her chin up and settles it along his collar. When she speaks, her breath puffs out on his neck, and Aoi feels him shiver. "We still did mushy couple shit. And." She nestles her head down into the space along his collarbone. Her head fits perfectly into the groove. "If we can kiss, then we can definitely hold hands in public."

"Why weren't we able to do that before?"

"I don't know," Aoi says. "We just weren't."

"Whatever."

She smiles at the photo once more. Every time she sees it, she spots a new, shimmering detail. "Hey, can you send me that?"

"Already did."

"Really?" Wriggling to the side, Aoi snakes a hand into her pocket and pulls out her phone. She hasn't been taking nearly as many photos as Spectre. On her home screen, there's no notification of a new message. "You sure?"

Spectre pauses. Swallows so thickly Aoi hears it catch in his throat. Then, in a weak, scratchy voice that sounds like nails scraping on a board, he says, "Whoops."

Aoi stiffens. "What?" And then, "Who'd you send it to?"

"The last person I was talking to."

"Who?"

"Ryouken."

Aoi doesn't have it in her to curse or bemoan her fate, or even worry about something so trivial. Someone was going to find out either way, and at least Spectre didn't send it to her brother or Naoki. She chuckles under her breath and nestles her head down against his warm chest. "Who cares," she says. "Who truly cares."


	16. Aoi/Spectre VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i meant to post this on Friday before i left to go camping for the weekend, but then time got ahead of me. then i tried publishing while in the car, and i lost cell service before i could finish editing ^^;; so apologies for the delays, and thank you for your patience!

She stretches her arms over her head and yawns loudly. The clock above the TV says it's fifteen minutes until Spectre gets here, but he's always early, so Aoi knows to expect him in five or less. He could even show up now and she wouldn't be surprised. The butterflies have already gathered in her belly, along with a painful, twinging cramp. She hugs the hot water bottle to her chest and tugs the corners of her afghan blanket around her shoulders.

One last time, she runs through her mental checklist. She's cleaned the house enough so that it's presentable; her brother would still say it's dirty, but Aoi has seen the state of Spectre's house, and her loft is far tidier. There's juice in the fridge and snacks in the cupboard. She's picked out a couple movies to watch, and if her and Spectre really get bored, they can just play Mario Kart until he gets so frustrated and throws his controller on the floor.

They've hung out plenty of times since they've been together, and today truly should be no different. But today Akira isn't home, and Aoi knows exactly what Spectre's going to offer. He says the same thing when his parents aren't home too.

Behind her, she hears the knock on the door. She peels herself from the warm cocoon, and buries her hot water bottle in the blanket so it'll be toasty-warm when she returns. Softly, she pads across the plush carpet and to the door. Spectre knocks just as he places her hand on it.

"I'm here," she says, and opens the door for him.

They've been dating long enough that Spectre has given up on "dressing up for the occasion." He's in a t-shirt and jeans, with a blazer on to freshen up. His hair is mussed from the train ride over and standing on the breezy platform, and his cheeks are already pink from the cold.

"Am I early?" he teases, brushing past her and into the room.

Aoi clicks her tongue. She closes the door behind her and says, "Not any earlier than I was expecting you."

Spectre has been to her house so much in the past month that he knows the layout of the house and the contents of most drawers, cupboards, and closets. He heads into the kitchen and pulls out two cups and fills them with juice. He leaves one on the counter for her, and drains his own glass. Bits of juice cling to his pink lips, and he runs his tongue across them like some predatory animal.

"How was the trip over?" Aoi asks, taking her own glass and sipping from it. She wraps a hand round her waist as it twinges once more.

"Boring."

Aoi laughs. "I was thinking of watching a movie today. Have you seen the new spy film?"

She sees Spectre's smile drop a bit, and the colour fade out of his eyes. But Aoi presses on, hugging her sides with her hand and slowly winding her way back to the couch. She swings her hips too, and smiles coyly over her shoulder. "You could make popcorn too if you're going to hang around in the kitchen."

Spectre chuckles and rubs the back of his head. His smile stretches around the corners of his slim face. Aoi knows the look: he's not buying her advances or anything to do with watching a movie and cuddling up.

"Y'know, I was thinking we could do something else ... in the bedroom ..."

With a slight cough, Aoi clears her throat. "How about another day? My, um ... stomach hurts."

To her surprise, Spectre looks genuinely concerned. He sets down his glass and approaches her. His eyes grow wide in concern, and when he speaks, his voice comes out gentler and far less condescending than normal. "Oh, really? Do you want to rest first? I mean, we've got all day; doesn't your brother have like weeks of office work to catch up on or something?"

Aoi shifts away, rubbing her cheek with her shoulder. She reaches over the couch and grabs her hot water bottle, and holds it firmly against her belly. "Yeah," she says, rolling the word off her tongue. "But it's not really like that, OK? Let's just sit down for a bit and watch a movie."

Spectre smirks. "What? Upset stomach or something?"

"No ..."

"Then what's wrong?"

She shifts under his gaze, and chews on her lip as her back ripples with another cramp. "I'm on my period."

Even Spectre, dumb as can be, knows about periods. Aoi sees his expression fall like toppling towers, and the luminescent light from his body flickers away. "What?" His words ring out in the room. And then, to drive the knife in a bit deeper: "For real?"

"Why would I lie about that?" Aoi says. She cradles the hot water bottle into her belly. Slowly, she slides over to the couch and sinks down into the cushions. All morning she's had cramps even with medication. It both soothes and pains her to touch her sides, and her upper arms are sore too. Really, it's not unbearable, but it's not the feelings Aoi wants to have on the day she and Spectre fool around in bed.

Tucking her chin into her knees, she adds, "I thought it was going to be next week, but I guess it's early. Sorry. I ... know you were looking forward to this."

Spectre sets a hand on her knee. His fingers bend and massage her knee cap. "It's not your fault."

Aoi peeks through her long bangs and blinks. "Tha—"

"But you sure we can't?" His smile widens, splitting across his now-radiant face. "I don't mind. That's not gross at all."

"It's not the grossness," Aoi says. She reaches out a hand and gently rubs the skin of his hand. He uses some natural cream that makes his skin baby-smooth. One time Aoi tried it on too and it healed her cracked hands within the hour. "I just don't really feel good. All right?"

He hums under his breath, and Aoi bows her head forward. She'd even been looking forward to fooling around too. They've never tried it before, but she's ... researched. Not a lot, but enough that she's been wondering what areas Spectre is most sensitive to touch: neck, feet, jaw, hips. Aoi has even tried to figure out where  _ she's  _ most sensitive, but perhaps those areas are different when it's someone else's fingers.

"What if it's just a little bit though?"

"Spectre ..."

"I'll wear a condom and gloves, and we'll put towels on the bed. And—and we'll take it nice and slow, all right?"

"Spectre. Take a hint." She runs her hand from his hand up towards his arm, tickling the feathery, white hairs. "I know you're disappointed, and I am too. I even feel sorry that this happened. But it's not like there's nothing we can do today; I'm not crippled by this or anything. So come sit down and help me pick out a movie."

She smiles sweetly up at him. And then frowns. Spectre hasn't moved a muscle, and the hand on her knee feels colder.

He covers it up with a short, stunted laugh, and draws his hand off her knee and back into his pocket. "Haha, my bad," he says at last. "Maybe then ... I should just go home."

"What?"

Aoi doesn't mean for the word to come out sharper than a knife, but she cuts through every sound in the room. Her voice echoes in the empty apartment; her neighbours probably even heard her. "What?" she says again, this time softer. "Why do you need to leave?"

He shifts from foot to foot, still not moving closer to the couch or placing his hand on her. His typical, simpering expression casts an odd glow under his eyes. Aoi mentally rolls her eyes. Is he really that bummed out about fooling around? Even she wasn't basing the entire day on how many bases they could run in an afternoon. To hear him act like this though puts a hard stone in her belly that increases the painful cramps.

"What's up?" Aoi asks.

"Well, you're obviously not feeling well," Spectre says.

"True," she says, and tugs the blanket firmly around her shoulders. "But as I said before, I'm not dying on a hospital bed. I feel good enough to sit up and move around and eat a bit. Besides, there are other things we can do today besides lewd fantasies."

"Like what?"

Aoi blinks.

"That's what I mean," he says, rolling over his words like his thoughts are steamrolling in his head. "I don't want to go home, but I can't really think of anything else to do. Sorry."

She huffs a breath that could blow three whole houses down. "I just said we could watch a movie. We could play video games too. If we sat down for a bit, I'd even be up for going for a stroll around the park in an hour or two." She sits forward on the couch, and cradles her face in her hands. "I'm sorry the day was messed up, but it's not like my cramps are magically going to go away. Trust me, I'm drugged up on medication and still feeling them."

"I know, I know," Spectre says, but rather than stroking her hand again, he bounces his shoulders. He seems further away too; Aoi can't reach him from her spot on the couch even if she stretches over the arm of the seat. Has he already been heading back to the door?

"But ..." He twists his lips together. "We planned this day two weeks ago, so ... can't we just do something to celebrate?"

Aoi feels something snap in her chest: her heart or her patience, she doesn't know, but she rises up from the couch like a goddess birthed from the water. "I don't get to decide when my period happens. At all. And you know that, you idiot, so stop trying to ask me if we're going to touch each other."

Hastily, he takes a step back. But instead of saying sorry, or really anything else, he says, "Geez, Aoi—"

"Geez  _ what?"  _ Aoi says. "I'm not some booty call, and that wasn't what this day was supposed to be about—at all! I was looking forward to this day too, but who cares? Is that really all this day was supposed to be for you? I could have just cancelled the date when my period came yesterday, you know? I felt like shit then and I still feel like shit now."

Spectre shrinks back under her icy gaze. "Why didn't you just cancel the day then?"

"Because I wanted to see you! But it appears you didn't come here to see me, so fine, leave!"

This time, he apologises. "Aoi, wait! I'm sorry!"

It's too late. Aoi whirls around, and her eyes burn with unshed tears.  _ "Now  _ you're apologising? I really don't care right now. All right? Get a clue and leave already." Turning around, Aoi sinks back into the couch and buries her head in her knees. She keeps one ear pricked for his footfalls and the sound of the door closing, but she doesn't hear anything. Instead, Spectre's arms wrap around her shoulders, and he presses his nose into the crown of her soft hair.

"I'm sorry."

He doesn't blurt it out, or tack it on to the end of a sentence. He says it, and leaves it to settle in the crackling air around them. Then he speaks again: "That's probably not what you want hear now. I know. And I don't know how to apologise to you, but I am ... sorry. You invited me over even when you felt terrible, and what I said was shit. And I can't say I'm shit because then I'm just looking for sympathy from you, but I kinda feel like it now."

She presses her face further into her knees. When Spectre settles a hand on her shoulder, not where her upper arm hurts, but with his fingers splayed down towards her collarbone, Aoi leans her head into his hand.

"But you really did look like you weren't feeling well, and so that's why I offered to go home. That's honestly why I said what I said. And I still will, if you want me too and you weren't just saying that earlier to make it up to me. I'll ..." He turns his head to the side, and with his mouth presses into her hair, mumbles out, "I'll even make you a cup of tea before I go."

She sniffles lightly, and Spectre presses himself over the couch and onto her. It actually feels nice. He's not touching her hips or waist, or her arms; he feels like a warm blanket on top of her. With each breath he takes, the vice around her chest ebbs away. She can breathe and think more clearly.

"I do love you."

"I ... know." She rubs her wet eyes into her knees, and then shifts her head so she can see him through a curtain of hair. "Can you just ... go?”

He stiffens under her.

"I forgive you and all, but ..."

He chuckles. "Girls get pissed off when they're on their periods, right?"

"No," Aoi says through her teeth. "Girls get pissed off when their boyfriends don't listen to them."

She hears Spectre suck in a strong breath, and then, weakly: "Right. I'll ... make you tea before you go."

"Another time," Aoi says. She slumps onto the cushions, and Spectre doesn't reach down to touch her. Through the hair in her face, she can't even see him, but she imagines he looks like a beaten puppy, and it's a look she doesn't ever want to see. Right now, she doesn't want to see anything. Her head and stomach and heart hurt in three different ways and she can't make sense of any of them. And the last thing she wants to do is try to figure out what Spectre's saying.

She hears him say, "OK," and then, on cue, his footfalls echo across the room and stop by the door. Aoi only hears him close the door, and though she just just hear a click, it sounds like the thud of a gate slamming shut. Tucking her chin into her blankets, she curls up on the couch, clutching the hot water bottle to her belly. Even with the blanket and the bottle, the heat never stays. The room feels far too cold and empty.


	17. Aoi/Spectre VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took a few days longer to get this chapter out ^^;; i've been working through a lot of stress, but i'm on the mend! ^^  
> also one more chapter left for Aoi/Spectre!

"I want to die ..." Spectre grumbles into the collar of his jacket. He's tugged it up over his mouth and tucked his hands back into his sleeves. It's gotten much colder lately, and not just because of the approaching winter. Aoi hasn't talked to him since they fought, and it's been a week since then. The last time they had a fight, it was just two days before he went over and responded. But this time is different. Instead of moping around in her room, Aoi came to class the next day as if nothing had happened. She refused to talk to him, and at lunch she turned her back to him and ate with a classmate who she rarely spoke to.

It hurt.

Now, Spectre huddles in his jacket outside of Ryouken's enormous house. The building is like Aoi's penthouse apartment, only a single-story house built into the side of a mountain overlooking the water. It's still a white, sterile building, with a minimalistic design that emanates wealth. Spectre feels like a twig that rolled up the driveway in his jacket and jeans.

He feels even worse when Ryouken steps out in a black peacoat and a purple scarf tied elegantly under his pointed chin. Ryouken always looks older, like somehow he's aged faster than everyone else---and not just physically, but mentally too. The gleam in his silver-blue eyes sends a shock down Spectre's spine. Ryouken just looks dependable no matter what situation he's in. He's calm, cool, and collected to Spectre's nervous, antsy, and silly personality.

"Are you going to be warm enough?" Ryouken asks.

Spectre bristles. "Don't patronise me."

"That was an honest question," he says. "Now come on, we'll go pick up Yuusaku."

Spectre rolls his eyes. He asked Ryouken a couple days ago if he could come to the festival with him, and Ryouken had said yes and never pressed it. Now though, he stares holes into Spectre's head.

"Are you meeting Zaizen there?"

"Aoi?" Spectre says, and twists his lips together. He hasn't told Ryouken about Aoi, believe it or not. Unlike the last time he and Aoi fought, and he vented to Ryouken for an hour straight, Spectre doesn't feel right involving anyone else in his and her relationship troubles. It seems too personal this time, and dare he say he's embarrassed it happened again, and so soon too. Do couples have arguments like this often? On TV, couples either have no troubles and are the quintessential optimistic duo, or they have one big blowout that ends in a perfect resolution. His and Aoi's relationship fits in neither of those boxes. It shouldn't anyways, but it sure would be easier if they were more like a typical couple so he would know what to do.

"Yeah ..." Spectre rolls the words off his tongue. "I think she's going."

Ryouken raises an eyebrow. He bumps shoulders with Spectre to turn him down the sideroad to Yuusaku's apartment. Spectre has never been there before, but he supposes it's not the same posh complex Aoi lives in.

"You're not going with her?"

"Nah, she wants to go with her friends and take selfies and do stuff like that."

Ryouken chuckles. "Isn't that what the two of you do together? Remember, I have seen the evidence."

Spectre ducks his head down to hide the blush spreading across his nose. Right, Ryouken has seen the "evidence." Neither he nor Aoi are public with their relationship status, but there's been a handful of times he's messaged Ryouken a text that should have been for Aoi. Needless to say, it's been embarrassing every single time.

He tries to brush it off with a forced chuckle, and adds, "Well, y'know, she probably wants to do other stuff with her friends. I'm not her entire world or anything."

"I guess," Ryouken says, but by the rumble in his words and the quirk of his thin lips, he doesn't believe Spectre for a second.

Shit.

"How come you're going with Yuusaku?" Spectre asks. "Does he even like festivals?"

"Not really," Ryouken says. "But he thinks a busy event will be better if he's with me."

Spectre internally gags. Ryouken is some kind of casanova when it comes to romance, and he's not quiet about the ways in which he's loved Yuusaku. Ryouken is definitely the type of person to share his love all over social media.

They turn down another side road lined with small apartment complexes. The buildings are grey stone, but instead of the minimalistic charm, they just look old and boring. There's nothing fancy about the iron gates in front of them, nor the poorly-trimmed hedges lining the walkway up to the entrance. Even the road looks too simple: the lampposts hang barren without any colourful drapings, and the benches out front  are wooden and iron and damp from last night's rain.

Ryouken stretches out his arm and flicks on his duel disk. "We're a bit early," he says. "Let's wait over here."

He guides Spectre to one of the damp benches. He motions for Spectre to sit, but doesn't sit down next to him; instead, he leans against the nearby lamppost, kicking a foot behind him to aid his balance. Spectre sees why as soon as he sits down: the seat of his pants grows damp. He growls under his breath and glares daggers at Ryouken.

Ryouken says nothing.

"What time is Yuusaku coming---"

"You got dumped, didn't you?"

Spectre swallows his words and coughs. "What?"

"Aoi dumped you."

"No she didn't." He spits the words out, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Where the fuck did that idea come from?"

"Just a feeling," he says. "Did you two have a fight then?"

This time, Spectre can't snap back a reply. He can't hide the fact that there's an ache in his heart, and the roots that so often keep him grounded feel weak and weathered from the emotions running amuck in his head. The fight shouldn't be torturing him, and he should be enjoying the solitude more ... but what Aoi said was true, and he doesn't know how to make it right to her.

"It's not any of your business," Spectre says. He smiles at Ryouken, curling back his pale lips and baring his sharp canines. For a vegan, he's got teeth meant for a predator.

"You did."

"Hey, I didn't say---"

"So what happened?"

He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't want to talk about it. Go get your stupid boyfriend and let's go to the festival already. I'm ditching you when we get there though; I'm not going to hang around like some awkward third wheel to yours and Yuusaku's date."

Ryouken merely shrugs his shoulders and draws his arm out once more to check his watch. "Yuusaku is still getting ready. But I can see something pressing on your mind, and I can't leave you with such sick love-thoughts."

"Whatever," Spectre says. He draws his knees up to his chin and rests his head atop them. The cool has seeped through his pants and to his legs, and the fabric sticks uncomfortably to his bottom. "We had a fight, all right? Just a fight. It happens to everyone."

"True, but you look like you've been dumped, not that you had a fight. That's why I wanted to speak  with you."

"I already said, I didn't get dumped. Got it?" He huffs out a breath and watches it turn to smoke in the air. The smoke cloud floats a few inches ahead before it disintegrates into the grey air. It's gotten darker since they've been sitting here. How long are they going to have to wait for Yuusaku to get out of his house? How long have they been waiting already? Anxiously, he flexes his hands inside his sleeves.

Ryouken taps the heel of his foot to the lamppost. "Do you think she'll forgive you?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"That's two different responses."

"Then I don't know."

Spectre growls under his breath when Ryouken doesn't say anything more. He keeps staring at him the way a child might look at a new pet fish, or the way a bird might look at a worm. It's jarring and confusing, and Spectre wishes Yuusaku would hurry up so they can walk to the festival and Spectre can ditch everyone. He could just walk to the festival by himself, or he could walk home and read a book on the couch and drink tea, but ... He doesn't want to. It should be as simple as that, but it's anything but easy.

"Look," Spectre says. "I pushed her too far and she got mad. That's what happened. That's why she's pissed."

"I'm glad you blame yourself instead of her," Ryouken says. "Sounds like this is your fault."

"Yeah, yeah, it is."

"She might not forgive you for something like that then." He tilts his head up, exposing from behind his plush scarf his long, pale neck and crisp jawbone. Spectre's skin is even more translucent, but unlike Ryouken, he hasn't filled out in quite the right ways. He's scrawny and lanky, like a willow tree.

"It would take a lot of maturity for her to forgive something like that," Ryouken continues. "Is there any reason she should forgive you too? After all, she's a nice girl. She could just as easily move on and date another guy. There are plenty of boys better than you."

"Thanks." He spits the words out. "Your motivational speeches really hit my heart in all the right places."

"But then"---Ryouken taps a finger to his lips, and the corners of his eyes curl like a cat---"you two are just having fun and playing a game, right?"

He blinks. "What?" And then, more strongly: "What's that mean?"

"Unlike myself and Yuusaku, you and Aoi are just fulfilling some childish high school fantasy. You're playing the cute lovers without investing yourself in a serious relationship. You two are dating for the sake of having a partner, but neither of you seem fulfilled in this relationship." Before Spectre can open his mouth, Ryouken cuts him off. He pushes off from the post and marches to stand in front of him, arms crossed in front of his chest. "High school romance is just a new fashion trend, right? Kids these days just want to hook up and kiss and post dorky photos of themselves all over the internet. And then when they break up they post "I broke up" messages on their social media so that everyone can pity them. Rinse and repeat."

"If you remember correctly," Spectre says, snapping the words between his sharp teeth, "I haven't posted a _fucking thing_ about our fight on LINE or Instagram or Twitter. You didn't even know about it." Growling, he kicks out his feet, crossing them at the ankles, and leans into the back of the bench. "Aoi and I aren't like that at all."

"You're speaking for her too?"

Spectre nods. "She doesn't go on her personal accounts; she just posts photos of her in her idol cosplays."

"Do you think Aoi was serious about your relationship though?"

"Of---of course!" Even the thought of that being a lie makes his blood curdle. "We were both serious about it. Honestly, you're hypocritical for saying that when your Insta feed is full of selfies and shots of you and Yuusaku and you narrate every single moment of your love life on Twitter. Aoi and I aren't like that. We're not publically broadcasting our relationship, and we're in love."

The verbal attack doesn't faze Ryouken in the slightest. He leans closer, the corners of his lips quirking up in a smirk that sends shivers down Spectre's spine. He's never seen such a devilish smile on his friend's face before.

"Then why don't you go apologise to her?"

Apolo ... He stiffens. How can he apologise to her? Hasn't Ryouken been paying attention to a single word he just said? Aoi hates him. She hasn't talked to him in a week and she refuses all contact with him. Ryouken knows about the previous fight too, so he's up to date with the situation. How then can he offer such stupid advice?

Huffing, Spectre turns his head away. "She's at the festival with her friends. You really think that's the time for me to barge in and apologise?"

Ryouken snorts. "And that's why I said your relationship is a fashion trend." He leans back and tilts his head towards Yuusaku's apartment. By this point, Spectre wonders if Yuusaku is already at the fair, and this was all a set-up to get him to talk about Aoi. He wouldn't put it past Ryouken. But Ryouken doesn't seem in a rush to get to the festival either. He settles down on the arm of the bench---the only dry part, Spectre realises grimly.

"Let me tell you something, Spectre. Relationships that are fashion trends, like yours and Aoi's, are trying to be perfect. You're imitating some fabricated example from books or television that can't reflect what a real relationship is like. Real relationships have arguments. And fights. There's no magic number to how many is good and how many is bad, nor is there a number for how frequently they should or should not be occur. Life doesn't give you perfect numbers.

"But being able to come together after a disagreement is important, and you won't see how to do it in books. You had an argument with Aoi. You still love her. Don't you think she might feel the same way as you? That you're avoiding her? That you don't want to apologise to her? It doesn't matter that you had a fight before that. What matters is what you do this time, and that's own up to what you did wrong.

"There's no perfect time to apologise to someone. Yeah, there are bad times, but this isn't one of them. She's by herself at a festival that I bet you she wanted to spend with you. If she still loves you, she's waiting for you to come and say sorry."

Spectre swallows.

"That means you need to go. Now."

"What about---"

"I'll go wait around for Yuusaku," Ryouken says. His smile widens. "We might spend the night in."

Spectre swings himself upright and shoves his hands in his pockets. "And now is my time to leave," he singsongs. He heads off down the road. He waits for Ryouken to shout something out to him, but then that only happens in books, right? He needs to stop basing his love life on some fantasy.

Squaring his shoulders, he heads off down the road and to the festival. The streets are quieter at first, and slowly grow more congested and lively as he heads to the city centre. The festival is at one of the biggest shrines in Den City, located just off from the fountain area and nestled in a cosy, wooded park. Due to space restraints, the festival is also sprawled out by the fountain. Small tents and shacks are set up hosting a variety of games and snacks. People crowd around the little booths exchanging pocket change for the chance to win a small or large prize. Most people have dressed up in yukatas covered with a thicker overcoat to keep them warm. Even in his jacket and jeans, Spectre feels the chill slipping through.

He pushes past the dense crowds of people playing festival games, and heads up the pathway towards the shrine. Aoi doesn't like crowds anyways, and she wouldn't follow her friends down here. Most likely they're at the shrine itself, or nestled somewhere in the lantern-lit woods eating snacks and talking away.

He doesn't see her first; one of her friends does.

"Hey, Aoi, isn't that Spectre?"

"Eh?"

Spectre meets her gaze. She looks lovely. She only has one yukata, but the beautiful blue pattern with white angel wings that suits her round face and bright eyes so well. She has a dark blue obi cinched around her waist, and a dark overcoat that she tugs closer around her chest. Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops. She looks ready to flee.

But then she turns to her friends and says, "Sorry guys, hold on for just a moment ..."

His heart skips a beat as she comes over. In the ten steps it takes her to get to him, her expression dissolves into one of disinterest: pursed lips and dark eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest.

Spectre tucks his head down. "Sorry for, uh, meeting you like this, with your friends and all ..."

"It's fine." Her words cut him deep.

"And ..." He dips himself forward, not really in a bow, but ... something. Something that means something. "For the other day too ... for not listening to you.”

"I'll forgive you after you buy me a cell phone strap."

Spectre lifts his head. "Huh?"

She huffs and him, and holds her hands on her hips like an upset mother scolding her child. "I'm still going to be pissed for a while, all right? But you know ... Even the stupid parts of you don’t suck. I hate being apart from you, and I'd rather talk than ignore you."

When she smiles, it looks genuine. She must still be pissed, but a weight lifts from his chest. If she's pissed, she's working through it. If she's mad, she wants to feel better.

She wants to forgive him.

"Now come on," she says, grabbing his hand. "You're buying me that cell phone strap as an apology, all right?"

Spectre chuckles and squeezes her hand lightly. "All right."

"And that means you have to buy me another one."

"Why?" He swallows another laugh. "That wasn't the deal at all."

"Because," she says, swinging around, her yukata rustling against her ankles, stirring up a breeze that no longer threatens to pick off his skin. "I'm your girlfriend and I want you to buy me a present—an actual present, not an apology gift."

He can't argue with that one. Whether they'd fought or not, he would have bought her a present anyways.


	18. Aoi/Spectre VIII

Aoi gathers up her books and shoves them deep into her backpack. She hooks the straps over her shoulders, and wriggles so that her uniform jacket isn't ruffled at the back. Around her, her classmates are putting away their belongings for the end of the day too. As it's Friday, there's an excited chatter rumbling through the class: everyone is planning what they want to do on the weekend if they don't have Saturday classes, though some students are talking about their extra classes and studying they have to do.

She rolls her shoulders back. She only studies when she needs to.

Skipping across the classroom, Aoi stops before Spectre's desk. He's slowly, meticulously putting away each of his notebooks and textbooks, careful not to crinkle any of the pages. For a student with lower grades than her, Spectre is quite careful with the presentation of his schoolwork.

When he spots her, he peers through his silver bangs and crinkles his nose. "How come you didn't text me back?"

"Because you messaged me at two am and all you said was, 'I'm hungry.' What am I supposed to say to that?"'

"I dunno, that you were hungry too?"

"I was asleep."

'Well then text me and say you were asleep."

She reaches across and bonks him on the head with her fist. But Spectre keeps smiling away at her, even when he ducks his head back down to put away his textbooks. Once he's done, he stands and dons his jacket and his backpack. Then together they head out of the classroom. She considers holding his hand, but so soon after the bell has rung the hallways are crammed full of students, and it makes it impossible for them to stick together, much less hold hands and walk next to each other. She watches the back of his silver head and follows him through the thick crowds and out towards the school doors.

When she sees sun and sky, her heart relaxes and she lets out a deep breath. The crisp, autumn air feels good on her lungs. The pathway leading up to the school is covered in crunchy, brown and orange leaves; in the grass, the leaves are damp and soggy, and no longer even look like leaves but puddles of off-brown dirt. Over her head, the white clouds fade away to grey rain clouds; it'll rain tonight.

She zips up her jacket collar to her chin, and nestles deeper into the warm fabric. Spectre pulls out a set of gloves and a toque; for someone who loves nature and all its beauties, he's an absolute wuss around it. He's either too hot or too cold, and he gets more colds  and flus than anyone else she knows. Maybe it's because he eats all that natural crap. Who knows.

They start walking down the path together, wandering first around the corner and then to the park they frequently visit. There are more crisp leaves here; some still hang from the branches of the maple trees, yet the wind and rain have made good work of clearing away the weaker leaves.

"Something on your mind?" Spectre asks her.

"Mhm," Aoi says at first. She glances side to side to make sure there are no students nearby, no one to pry in on their conversation. Then she says to Spectre: "My friend said something that's been bothering me."

"Yeah?"

"Are we stuck in a rut?"

He just blinks at her. "What's that even mean?"

Heck if she knows. Her friend just told her it over lunch when she was talking about how she and Spectre were just doing fine, but that nothing big had happened, good or bad. Thinking about that now, she tries to piece together her thoughts. "It means ... It's not a good thing or a bad thing, all right? It's just a thing that sometimes happens in relationships, I think."

Spectre pulls out his phone. "Want me to Google it?"

"No," Aoi says quickly. She doesn't want to see what comes from the internet. She's learnt not to trust what relationship advice the internet churns out after she and a couple friends found dating magazines and spent the next hour on their dueling discord criticising everything wrong with it. "No, but if you think about it ... We're not the same as we used to be. Our relationship, I mean. We don't take those monthly anniversary selfies together and post them to your Instagram."

"That got old quickly," Spectre says, and he laughs through his teeth. "But I see. Yeah, back then I used to style my hair every day."

"You did."

"But it sucked. Imagine having to get up an extra fifteen minutes early just so you can gel your hair."

Aoi laughs as well, and goosebumps appear on her arms. "No thanks, I'd rather sleep the extra fifteen minutes. And I remember I used to get butterflies in my stomach whenever I saw you, but now I just see you and feel a perfectly normal feeling. That's better, right?"

Spectre shrugs, and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Maybe. And we used to hold hands back then too. Remember we used to say that we'd never do anything that other couples did, and then somehow we still ended up doing the same shit as them? Took a photo of us kissing, held hands, called each other cute pet names for a while. We did all of it."

Just the thought of it makes Aoi's cheeks heat up. She's glad she never realised it until now, but ... It's true. She and Spectre tried their hardest to be something they weren't at first, and then naturally became the lovey-dovey couple like the ones they criticised. But they aren't like that anymore, or the couple they think they want to be. She doesn't even know what kind of couple they are. They're not even holding hands, and it's not from the chilly weather.

"Maybe we are in a rut," Spectre says. He swings his arms and rolls his shoulders—not the behaviour of someone who would normally be upset by something. "We should do something about that then."

Aoi nods her head, and then slowly stops. Her lips purse together, and she narrows her eyes at Spectre's growing shit-eating grin. "Can I take a guess at what you're thinking?"

"You a psychic or something, Aoi?"

She huffs. "Is it something lewd?"

His mouth drops. "You are."

"No." She topples her weight to the side and bumps shoulders with him. Her cheeks are as rosy as autumn apples, and when she leans closer, she sees Spectre's face grow as pink as a sunset. He looks cute when he's like that. "I've just been dating you for a whole year so I can tell what you're thinking. We've hung out a lot, so I just know you better."

"I know, I know," Spectre says. But he sobers too quickly, and Aoi feels him stiffen under her side. "But Aoi, before ... when we fought ... that's ... that's why we fought in the first place. And I was just joking, all right? I shouldn't have made a mistake like that, and if you're not ready—"

"Spectre." Aoi twirls on her heel and stops him from his mad walking through the forest. She sinks her loafers into the mushy leaves and lets the wind twirl her short, brown hair. "Can you guess what I'm thinking?"

He swallows.

"You've been dating me for a year too. Guess. I won't be mad."

But Spectre still doesn't say anything. He twists his face in a hundred different confusing expressions that Aoi can't interpret, and every time he opens his mouth, he promptly closes it. Aoi stays still through the first minute of it, but then she begins to rock herself back and forth, and she stares down at the four feet that separate them. Is it truly that difficult for him to think about what she might be thinking? She could tell what he was thinking right away.

"What's wrong?" she says when he seems to draw into himself. She smiles widely at him, and then taps a finger to her chin. "You sure you can't tell?"

"I really can’t," Spectre says, raising a hand. "You're just smiling creepily, Aoi."

She drops the expression. "Thanks."

He toes the ground with the tip of his shoe.

"Spectre." When he doesn't lift his head, Aoi takes a step closer and says his name again. He raises his head, but not to meet her gaze. Gently, Aoi brings her hand and cups it around his cheek. "If we're a couple, you shouldn't be afraid to say what you want. We'll be stuck in a rut if both of us are too scared to make advances on the other." She leans forward, rubbing her thumb against the strong bones of his jaw. "We need to be able to trust in each other, and not be afraid to occasionally make mistakes."

Her eyes start to drift closed, but just before she closes them, she sees Spectre lean forward a bit. Aoi takes the advance. She kisses him once on the lips, neither strong nor  soft nor anything like she ever pictured her real first kiss to be. She doesn't let the moment linger, but when she tilts her head back, she feels Spectre's breath on her lips.

He didn't back away either.

"No matter what happens," Aoi whispers to him. "We'll get through it together, and I know you feel the same way as me." She giggles, chewing on her lips to muffle the sound. "I can read minds, remember?"

He smiles back at her: the smile she fell in love with, and the one she wishes she could see again and again on his ethereal face. The warm glow has returned to his body, and even with the inch of distance between them, Aoi feels warmed all the way to her core. Sometime during the kiss, her other hand found Spectre's, and she gives it a slight squeeze.

"We might still fight," Spectre says.

"And I'm not always going to answer your late-night LINE messages."

"And I might still make mistakes."

She hums under her breath. She can still taste something, maybe his saliva, on her lips. It should taste weird, but somehow it's a flavour she's not opposed to. She could get used to this.

"But that's just how our love is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this series ends again! thank you to for all the views, kudos, comments, and bookmarks! i don't know if i'll pick up this series again and write more, but if the mood strikes me, i'll be sure to write again!  
> in the meantime, if you are a Blueghost fan, please look forward to my submission for [Vrains Rarepair Weeks](https://vrainsrarepairweeks.tumblr.com/). i'm writing fourteen chapters of a Blueghost college au, domestic and angsty and fluffy and fun. and if you are a Datastormer, i'm hosting [Datastorm December](https://datastorm-december.tumblr.com/) and will be writing seven chapters of some adorable, probably also domestic, datastorm. we'll see what i come up with :3
> 
> thank you again, everyone!! <33  
> -Lily-liegh


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